The air smelled like wet earth and moss, thick with the scent of pine. Celeste sat cross-legged beneath a cluster of birch trees, a book open in her lap but long forgotten. Her fingers toyed with the corner of the page, unmoving. She used to come here to feel peace—when she still believed this land could be her home.
But lately, even the quiet turned its back on her.
She looked out across the field where younger pack members sparred in the distance. Their laughter drifted on the wind, light and careless. None of them knew. None of them saw.
Celeste lowered her eyes again. She could still feel the echo of Grayson’s voice, the low promises he used to whisper beneath moonlit trees. The warmth of his hand on hers. The pride in his eyes the first time she shifted.
But that pride had turned
