ARTHUR’S POV
Tyla disappeared in my arms like a breath in winter.
One moment she was trembling, burning with white-mark heat, gripping my shirt as if she feared the world itself—and the next she simply… wasn’t there.
Not faded.
Not teleported.
Not taken in a way that made sense.
Just gone.
My hands were still curled around the shape she had occupied. My body still instinctively braced to hold her weight. But the space where she should have been was empty, silent, cold.
“Tyla?”
It wasn’t a whisper.
It was a wound.
The healer room flickered—the runes on the walls dimming, the lanterns guttering out as if her absence sucked the oxygen from the world. My wolf let out a sound I’d never heard from him before. A strangled noise that vibrated with grief and terror.
Reynold burst into t
