The night of the full moon came quiet.
Too quiet.
There were no howls. No rustle of branches. Even the stars held their breath as the ritual circle was drawn in salt and ash beneath the sacred grove. A place older than the pack itself—older than names, than bloodlines. A place where the veil had always been thin.
Rowan stood at the center, small and pale in the moonlight, wearing the pendant Kaelen once wore, now humming with heatless light. Beside him, Quinn knelt, his hands steady despite the tremor in his heart.
Jace stood at the edge, jaw clenched. He didn’t like this—sending them in where he couldn’t follow—but it had to be Quinn.
Love wasn’t instinct for Quinn. It was choice.
“I’ll bring him back,” Quinn whispered, voice low enough only Jace could hear.
“I know,” Jace said. Hi
