Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
Raven Hollow, nine weeks and ten days after the gate closed — the day the world remembered
The Hollow burned around me.
Not just with fire — with memory.
Screams tore from the trees. Wolves — Hollow-born, Ironfang, renegade — fought in a blur of fang, flame, and centuries of buried grief. The scent of blood and singed fur mixed with something deeper, older: the taste of forgetting.
I stood at the heart of it, gold light pulsing from my fingertips, the air rippling with fragments of time that bent around me like blades.
But all I could see was Nessa.
My friend.
My sister in the Hollow.
Now my enemy.
Now a monster.
Not because of the antlers curling from her skull or the spectral runes glowing beneath her skin.
But because she had chosen it.
“Why?
