I stared at the symbol. The wolf with silver eyes. It looked hand-drawn. Deliberate. Important.
“I’ve seen this before,” I said. Getting out of bed. Finding my mother’s journal. “Here. She drew it everywhere. In the margins. On blank pages. Like she was obsessed with it.”
Lycian compared the photo to the journal. His expression darkened. “This isn’t just a random drawing. It’s a mark. A signature. Used by a very specific group.”
“What group?”
“The Silvermoon Collective. Ancient organization. Older than most packs. They operate in shadows. Control things without being seen.” He set down the journal. “My father told me about them once. Said they were dangerous. That crossing them meant death.”
“And my parents were connected to them?” My voice came out hollow. “How? Why?”
“I don’t know.
