Isolde told me all of this later, in pieces, her voice shaking in a way I had never heard from her before.
She had slipped into the dormitory wing through a side entrance she used to sneak out of as a younger girl, moving past sleeping guards toward Alpha Damon's private quarters. She was not looking for proof anymore. She already believed us.
She was looking for a way to stop what was coming.
What she found instead was a locked door at the end of a corridor that should not have existed at all, hidden behind a false wall panelled to match the stone around it. She only noticed it because a thin line of candlelight leaked from underneath.
Inside, chained to the wall by silver that burned even to look at, sat a girl no older than sixteen, hollow cheeked, dark haired, wearing a torn dress
