EMMA
The silver liquid in the basin wasn't just cold; it was a hungry, molecular acid that seemed to be rewriting my DNA. Every time Julian’s claws found Gabriel’s flesh, my own body erupted in sympathetic agony. My oxblood silk dress was already ruined, stained by the blood weeping from the phantom gasps in my ribs and shoulder.
But then, the doors had blown. The clinical, corporate stench of Damien Roche filled the hall, clashing with the primal musk of the pack.
"Am I late for the party?" Damien’s voice was a jagged shard of glass in the sacred silence of the trial. He stood there in his white suit, looking like a god of the new world come to dismantle the old. "I brought enough C4 to turn this 'sanctuary' into a f*****g parking lot."
The Great Hall erupted. Not in panic—wolves don'
