The morning was sharp and cold, the air crisp as they stood in the entryway of Silas’s residence. Victoria was tugging on her gloves, already halfway to the door, while Silas lingered beside her, checking the time with the faint tension of someone about to face a room full of Alphas.
Celeste followed a step behind, her blanket long traded for the simple dark dress Victoria had set out for her. Every thread of her felt too exposed, as though the fabric couldn’t hide the weight pressing against her chest.
Victoria pulled the door open, light spilling across the polished floor. “Come on,” she said lightly, “we’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”
Silas gave a curt nod, stepping toward the hall. But Celeste didn’t move. Her feet stayed rooted where she stood, her hand tightening at her side.
