The seven days of training ended not with a fight, but with a terrifying stillness.
Elara stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the penthouse master suite. She didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. The exhaustion of the week was hidden beneath a flawless layer of makeup, but the real change was in her eyes. The soft, heartbroken girl who had fled Paris was gone. In her place was a woman who had memorized centuries of bloody Pack Law, endured the crushing weight of an Alpha’s aura, and learned how to mask her human heartbeat under pressure.
She was dressed for war, though her armor was woven from silk and cashmere. She wore a tailored, charcoal-gray winter coat over a high-necked black dress, her dark hair swept up into a severe, elegant twist that left her neck—and Lucia
