The cold felt different this year. It wasn’t just outside—it was in everything. In the hallways, in the way people looked at her, in the space between her and the sky. The air hung heavy, thick with expectation and disappointment.
She was sixteen now.
And she still hadn’t shifted.
She wasn't sure if she was entirely disappointed—anything to stall being mated to Brandon.
But Amber hadn't taken the wait so kindly. She had cornered her in the kitchen one cold morning. Brandon had led the pack on a run, and Byron had gone off brooding somewhere, leaving her alone with Amber.
The kitchen was still, the kind of still that made even the hum of the old refrigerator sound loud.
Xochi stood near the counter, wrapping her hands around a warm mug she didn’t really want. The silence felt tight,
