Fernando’s pov
I ran my thumb over the place where the scar used to be, and found nothing but smooth, unbroken skin, the lamplight catching no shadow of a ridge that should have been there.
For thirty years that mark had sat across my abdomen, a jagged line of dead flesh no healer in three territories had ever managed to soften, let alone erase. I'd earned it the same night I'd lost my claim to Red Moon's throne, torn open by a rival's blade and left to bleed out in the dirt by wolves who assumed the wound alone would finish what their weapons hadn't. It never fully closed. It ached in cold weather, pulled tight whenever I shifted too fast, and served as a permanent, unwelcome reminder of every wolf who'd ever underestimated how much I'd survive to make them regret.
Now it is gone. Not
