The next letter from the south did not smell like home.
It smelled like ink and damp and the faint chemical tang of the Council’s sealant — the same stuff Silvercrest used for “formal communications.” Aria spotted it the moment she walked into the hall and saw a small stack of envelopes on the side table.
Her mother’s neat script wasn’t on any of them.
Lena sorted through the pile, lips moving as she read the names. “Rowan. Mara. Me. Rowan again. You.” She plucked one and waggled it.
Aria’s stomach dipped. “Who from?”
Lena turned it so Aria could see the crest pressed into the wax. Silvercrest. Council ink. The handwriting, though, was different — sharp, almost too neat. Masculine.
“Aiden?” Lena guessed, eyes narrowing.
Aria’s wolf flinched. Her fingers curled before she made hersel
