AMAYA
The great hall glitters with gold and crystal, but the polished floors and glowing chandeliers can’t hide the bite of the air inside. Formal gatherings in Grayhide are always suffocating, a thousand sharp eyes measuring worth by pedigree, not by heart.
These gatherings have become the bane of my existence.
I balance a silver tray in my hands, weaving through the crowd of elders and high-ranking wolves. The murmurs around me rise and fall like tides I’m not welcome to swim in. Evelara sits near the head table, a truly radiant beauty, clothed in an emerald colored silk. Her lips curve when she sees me.
“Careful,” she drawls, loud enough for her friends to hear as I pass with goblets of wine. “You wouldn’t want to drop something important again. Unless clumsiness is all you’re good
