EMMA
Morning doesn’t arrive gently.
It comes sharp and intrusive, like a truth that refuses to be ignored.
The estate is awake before the sun fully crests the trees. I can hear it in the distance—the controlled chaos of a pack recalibrating. Boots on gravel. Engines starting and stopping. Voices low, purposeful. No laughter. No casual ease.
Everything is different now.
I lie awake in the guest room Clara insisted I take, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer answers. The bed smells faintly of clean linen and pine, a scent that curls in my chest whether I want it to or not. The bond hasn’t quieted overnight. If anything, it’s sharper—more aware, like it’s learning me the way I’m learning it.
Not pulling.
Not claiming.
Just… there.
Waiting.
I sit up slowly, pressing my feet t
