Jace is waiting when I emerge. He doesn’t say anything, just nods toward the door.
We drive in silence. The landscape shifts, familiar but distant—the trees taller, the air heavier with the scent of pine and damp earth. The land of my Lycan ancestors. Sacred ground.
When we arrive, Jace leads me to a clearing ringed by ancient stones. The air hums with energy, old and deep. I sit on the ground, closing my eyes.
For the first time since Hope’s death, I try to breathe. Really breathe.
The pain is still there, sharp and gnawing. But beneath it… something else. A thread. A whisper. A flicker.
I frown, reaching inward, past the grief, rage, and hollow space where the bond should be. And then I feel it—tiny, almost imperceptible, like a single strand of spider silk.
A bond.
It’s faint, so
