The crowd didn't move.
Neither did I.
The words I had spoken lingered in the air.
They were murdered.
Not lost.
Not forgotten.
Not gone.
Murdered.
The truth settled heavily over Beaumont.
Some villagers looked horrified.
Others looked guilty.
A few looked afraid.
Those were the ones that interested me.
Fear meant recognition.
Fear meant memory.
Fear meant they knew more than they wanted to admit.
My wolf noticed too.
She prowled restlessly beneath my skin.
Watching.
Listening.
Remembering.
Elyra stood quietly beyond the gate.
The silver-eyed wolves remained still.
Waiting.
Almost as if they had expected this moment.
As if they had always known I would eventually discover the truth.
My father looked exhausted.
Older.
The weight he carried seemed visible now.
Not
