Daciana POV)
Bardolph’s confession landed inside me as a stone dropped into deep water, sending old grief rippling through places I had not touched.
A journal.
His father’s journal.
A hidden record that might carry the name of the person who ordered my mother’s death.
For years, I had lived inside a lie so large that even my own blood had been kept from me.
Now the answers might be waiting inside the same pack house where I had been rejected, chained, and replaced.
I hated the shape of fate.
It kept making me walk back toward places that had already burned me.
Conri stepped beside me, and his presence was steady, respectful, and dangerous in a way that did not ask for permission.
“We can send spies,” he said, watching Bardolph like he expected one wrong breath to become another b
