Scarlett
I don’t hear the moment Violet shifts.
What I hear is breathing. Mine. Hers. The too-quiet air pressing against my ears like the world is holding a mirror to see what’s left of us.
There’s blood on my hands. I don’t know whose. Maybe his. Maybe mine. Maybe hers.
Rhodes isn’t moving.
And I hate the sound I make when I realize that. It’s not a sob. It’s not a scream. It’s the sound of something being pulled out of me. Scraped raw.
Behind me, the earth stirs. Something light. A whisper of air.
I turn.
And Violet is not Violet anymore.
Her bones have bent. Her skin has stretched. Her silver wolf form is smaller than mine, lean and bright, with a shimmer across her fur like someone whispered silver over frost. But she doesn’t look strong. She looks... unfinished. Like grief hi
