GABRIEL
The problem with instincts is that once they wake, they never sleep again.
From the moment Emma stepped into the dining hall that morning, something in me tightened—subtle, sharp, unmistakable. My wolf lifted its head inside my chest, alert in a way that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with possession.
Protect.
I forced myself to breathe evenly.
Emma looked tired. Not weak—never that—but fragile in the way glass is fragile, strong until struck in the wrong place. She wore a cream sweater that brushed her wrists, hair loose down her back. She smiled at Clara, accepted a mug from Lux, laughed at something one of the younger riders said.
Normal. Human. Unaware.
And yet the world around her felt louder.
I took the seat that put my body between her and the ta
