Callum lay on a narrow cot in the healer's quarters, his chest wrapped in bandages soaked dark at the edges. His breathing came slow and uneven, but his eyes stayed sharp when they landed on me.
"Morgan," he whispered. "You came."
"You asked for me," I said, kneeling beside the cot. "Talk fast. The healer says you do not have long."
Elara stood near the door, unsure whether she belonged in the room, until Callum lifted a weak hand and gestured her closer.
"Come here, child," he said. "You deserve to hear this more than anyone."
She stepped forward slowly, standing beside me, and Callum studied her face for a long moment before he began.
"Twenty three years ago, your grandfather ruled this pack," he said, looking at me. "He had two sons. Your father, and Bren."
"I know that part," I
