CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I watch Henry pace back and forth in his room, his fingers threaded through his tousled blonde hair. The scent of his frustration is a sharp tang in the air, mingling with the laundry detergent and cleaning products that the pack favors.
"Maybe if I talk to the scholar myself," he mutters, pausing to meet my gaze, "face-to-face, I could get some answers."
His blue eyes are a stormy sea of determination and fear, the weight of his lost ability pressing down on him like a physical force. He looks so human in this moment, vulnerable without the gift that connected him to us, to me.
"Alone?" My voice slices through the silence that follows his declaration, sharper than I intend. The idea of him wandering the maze of streets alone, seeking out the one person who might sh
