A hard truth
By evening, the whispers had spread farther. The entire pack house seemed infected by them now. Not loud whispers either.
Those were easier to survive. These were quieter. Colder. The kind that stopped the moment she entered a room.
The kind carried in glances instead of words. Katelyn felt them the second she entered the library.
The large wooden doors groaned softly as she pushed them open, the familiar scent of parchment, cedarwood, and candle smoke wrapping around her instantly.
Normally, the library had always been her escape—a place untouched by pack politics or expectations. Massive shelves stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, overflowing with ancient records and weathered texts. Tall arched windows overlooked the darkening forest outside, where the fading orange
