Sleep didn’t come.
Giselle lay on her narrow bed with her hands folded over her stomach, staring at the ceiling as shadows shifted slowly with the flicker of distant torchlight outside her window. The packhouse had quieted hours ago, the usual nighttime sounds settling deceptively peaceful. Soft footsteps of guards changing shifts carried from time to time, along with the occasional low murmur of wolves talking in hushed tones somewhere down the halls.
None of it touched her. Her mind kept replaying the conversation with Luna Iris. She was unusually calm for someone whose plan might have been discovered.
Giselle turned onto her side, curling slightly. Her wolf mirror her restlessly, pacing beneath her ribs like it couldn’t find a comfortable place to lie down.
“She knows,” Giselle whis
