Ava’s POV
The wind howled against the walls of the safehouse like a mourning spirit, clawing at the cracked wooden panels and whistling through the eaves as though echoing the chaos storming inside my head.
I sat near the hearth, watching the flickering flames devour the dried logs, but I felt no warmth. Not really. There was a hollowness inside me—one that not even fire could thaw. Damon was in the adjacent room, speaking with one of his most trusted warriors, Cyrus, who had returned from scouting the outskirts of Ravenstone. I caught snatches of their conversation—words like survivor, rogue movement, coded scent markers—but it all washed over me like static.
Because I was still trying to process what I’d seen… what I’d done.
Caleb’s body—once proud, once deadly—lay cold in the woods
