The coldness in the chamber wasn’t from the stones or the winds—it was from within her.
Raya sat still, elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly in front of her lips. The flicker of the torches along the wall cast restless shadows on the ground, mimicking the storm in her chest.
She didn’t speak.
She didn’t move.
She just breathed.
What are you doing, Raya?
What is this… this pull?, she asked herself.
She clenched her fists, remembering the sound—the sharp crack of the whip—the way it sliced through the air and struck his back. The way his skin split. The blood. The flinch. The stillness.
But what haunted her wasn’t his pain…
…it was that for a fleeting moment—she had felt it too.
The sting. The burn. The ache.
And worse… her wolf—her powerful, ancient soul—had turned her back
