SERAPHINA
“Who are you?” I smiled, cold and steady.
Those glassy, pale eyes—once dull with the pretense of blindness—were now sharp. Focused. Alive. And trained on me like a predator who’d grown bored of the chase.
Then he smiled.
Slow. Sinister. Tasting of secrets long buried.
“Well, well,” he said, stretching his limbs with a satisfied groan. “How long have you known?”
I didn’t flinch.
Even as Ronan and Asher tore through the circling wolves, their movements sharper now, listening—aware. Ronan’s growls deepened, and with every word I spoke, his attacks grew more brutal. More lethal.
I stared directly at the imposter. “Since you cursed.”
He raised a brow, amused.
“Finn doesn’t curse,” I said, voice even. “Not even when he was cornered by Reed and Cassius the other day. He speaks
