Sophia
I wake to moonlight painting silver patterns across our bedroom ceiling, and for the first time in months, my head doesn't feel crowded. No ghost whispering rage from her grief cave. No second presence judging my choices, weighing every decision against memories of a life I never lived. Just me and Selene, woven together so completely I can't find the seam where woman ends and wolf begins.
The absence of Hannah feels like removing a splinter that's been festering for months. The relief is physical—my shoulders drop, my jaw unclenches, tension I didn't know I carried bleeding away into the sheets beneath me. I can think without her commentary, feel without her emotions bleeding through, exist without constantly wondering which impulses are mine and which belong to a dead woman's gh
