The silence in the bedchamber was no longer heavy with defeat; it hummed with a quiet, lethal tension. Mallory remained seated against the pillows, her fingers tracing the hem of the linen sheet while the lingering warmth of the unbinding ritual settled deep into her marrow. Her wolf was finally awake, pacing the perimeter of her mind with sharp claws and an amber gaze that burned away the last remnants of fear. Outside the high arched windows, the slate-grey clouds of the Redclaw territory rolled across the mountains, pressing down against the spires of the main palace like a physical weight. But inside, the air was entirely her own.
A sharp rap at the heavy oak door broke the quiet, rhythmic only with the ticking of the antique brass clock on the mantelpiece.
Before Mallory could answe
