EMMA
The forest goes quiet in the way that only happens before something breaks.
Snow drifts down in slow, lazy flakes, settling on black fur and Damien’s polished shoes alike, as if the world itself is pretending nothing is wrong.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
The wolf stands between us—massive, unmoving, every line of his body screaming control held together by will alone. His breath fogs the air in heavy bursts. The ground beneath his paws looks scorched, as though power presses down so hard it warps the earth.
Damien recovers first.
Of course he does.
“Well,” he says lightly, hands raised again, palms out. “This is… dramatic.”
The wolf’s lips peel back.
A warning.
Not an attack.
Yet.
My heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. “Damien,” I say hoarsely. “
