Ibbie was supposed to be gone. Exiled. A ghost story the pack told to frighten pups into obedience. But ghosts don't send emails. And they certainly don't hack into secure Coven servers.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was in the Archives, cataloging a shipment of mandrake roots, when my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Check your inbox.
I frowned. My personal email was encrypted. Only a handful of people had the address.
I opened the app.
There was one new message. Subject: I know what you are.
My heart skipped a beat.
I opened it.
Attached was a series of photos.
They were grainy, taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. But the subjects were unmistakable.
Me and Guilermo.
Dancing at the festival.
Standing by the Heart Tree.
And one, particularly damning shot, of us leaving t
