The city didn’t wait for the wolves to heal. Six months after the limestone archive collapsed, the rain-slicked metropolis below the Blackwood Industries skyscraper had returned to its natural, indifferent rhythm. The federal quarantine lines had quietly dissolved, overwritten by corporate non-disclosure agreements and the heavy financial investments of a rebuilt Midnight Eclipse pack.
Nora stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor executive suite, looking out at the morning sun cutting through the gray harbor fog.
She wore a simple, tailored black suit jacket that hid the faint, silver-white network of scars tracking down her right forearm. The bone had healed straight, but her wolf, Luna, was no longer a dormant, muffled whimper in her mind. Her inner spirit was fully awak
