CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The den is cool, a respite from the burning sun outside, but it does little to ease the tension knotted tight in my shoulders. The rogue wolves' eyes weigh on me, heavy with expectation and thinly veiled desperation. I shouldn't care about their opinions, not after everything, but I can't help it. Empathy, my gift and curse, claws at my resolve.
"Here," a gruff voice commands, snapping me back to the present. A large hand presses against my back, guiding me forward. I stumble slightly over the uneven ground but regain my footing as I move further into the belly of the lair. It's a cavernous space, hollowed out beneath what I assume must be a giant, ancient tree. The walls are lined with moss and the air smells earthy, like freshly turned soil.
In the center of the room
