Enrique had learned, very early on, that Darkhowl did not give up its secrets easily.
They were buried beneath ritual and tradition, beneath pride and silence, beneath the kind of loyalty that rotted into complicity. The pack didn’t just protect its own—it protected its lies. And if there was one lie that clung to these walls like old blood, it was the story of his mother.
He stood at the edge of the eastern balcony, watching the sun dip low behind the treeline, staining the sky in bruised shades of gold and red. The wind carried the scent of pine and stone and something older—memories, maybe. His wolf shifted restlessly, pacing like it always did when his thoughts circled her.
You’re close, the wolf murmured. It’s now or never.
Enrique exhaled slowly. He’d tried Celeste first. That ha
