The night Glosh could no longer sleep, the moon hung low and heavy in the sky, swollen and pale like a watchful eye.
She lay on the narrow bed in the small room Angella had once called hers, staring at the ceiling while her heartbeat echoed in her ears. The house was quiet—too quiet. Even the insects outside seemed to have gone still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Her hands rested on her stomach, fingers trembling.
Power hummed beneath her skin.
It was not loud. Not violent. It was worse than that—patient.
Glosh turned onto her side, biting down on her lip as a sharp pulse ran through her chest. Images flickered behind her closed eyes: a crown made of silver vines, blood on snow, wolves bowing with their heads lowered. None of it made sense, yet all of it felt familia
