Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
The Hollow, ten weeks after the gate closed
The Hollow burned around me.
Not just with fire—but with memory.
Screams tore through the trees like claws. Wolves—Hollow-born, Ironfang, Crescent, rogue—fought in a blur of fang, flame, and fury. The scent of blood and singed fur mixed with something deeper, something metallic and ancient: 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 that had regrown taller and blacker, not because of the strange sigils glowing beneath her skin like living constellations.
But beca
