Caroline’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the doorframe as she stared at the impossible.
Ezra.
Alive.
Standing right in front of her, golden eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight, his smirk slow, easy—infuriatingly familiar.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"No."
The word left her lips before she could stop it.
This wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
She had killed him.
She had felt his body go still, watched the light leave his eyes, heard the final breath slip from his lips.
"You’re dead," she whispered, stepping back.
Ezra’s smirk widened.
"Clearly not."
Caroline’s hand darted to the dagger at her waist, the weight of the blade familiar, grounding.
"Stay back," she hissed.
Ezra raised his hands, mocking surrender.
"Relax, little wolf," he murmured. "If I want
