Ava's POV
Too much depended on me, truth, justice and everything they had stolen.
So I forced myself back to the table.
Mr. Oliver’s notes lay open. Beside them, I had gathered broken porcelain shards, cheap substitutes for the pieces I no longer possessed.
I picked one up.
My wolf steadied, focusing. But the moment I tried to carve, my hand trembled uncontrollably.
Rage surged hot and helpless within me. I gritted my teeth and tried again. The same thing happened.
Five years of prison labor had taken my strength. Endless hauling, grinding, cold, and malnutrition had eaten muscle and nerve alike. And the fall—the one I experienced down the stone steps in winter—had shattered my right hand completely.
It hadn’t fully healed. I slammed the shard down, breath shaking.
The next day, I
