Raya woke to silence, the kind that pressed in from all sides. The morning light was weak through the thick drapes, and the room smelled faintly of pine and smoke burning herbs, probably from the elders’ rituals. She blinked and immediately knew something was wrong. Too still. Too empty. The usual hum of the Montenegro estate the low buzz of wolves, footsteps, the stirrings of servants was gone.
Her wolf stirred, low and restless, pressing against her chest, urging her to move, to sense, to act.
She rose, slow, deliberate, senses straining. Every shadow looked alive. Every flicker of movement is too sharp to be normal.
Then she saw her reflection.
It wasn’t hers.
Lyra. Her twin. In her body. Or at least, the body the pack had learned to associate with her. The face, the voice, the sub
