For three perfect days, the Nightfall packhouse existed in a bubble of absolute peace.
Outside, the deep winter storms raged, burying the lower valleys in ten feet of snow. But inside the thick stone walls, there was only the roar of the hearth, the scent of fresh bread, and the deep, unbreakable bond of a pack that finally felt whole.
Aria spent her days managing the winter stores and sitting with the elders, learning the ancient histories of the northern wolves. She spent her nights wrapped in Rowan’s arms, exploring a physical and emotional connection so profound it left them both breathless by morning.
She felt safe. She felt powerful.
But in the world of wolves, peace was always a fragile, fleeting thing.
It happened on the fourth morning, right after breakfast. Aria was sitting
