AUTHOR’S POV
The sacred flames still smoldered, low and restless, casting long, writhing shadows over the ruined circle. Smoke curled upward in thin, silver streams, carrying with it the heavy aftertaste of divine wrath. The air was thick, saturated with the acrid tang of ash, the faint metallic bite of burned blood, and the shimmering energy of a Goddess who had spoken. The ground bore the scars of judgment—blackened earth, clawed grooves, and the seared imprint where Wesley had fallen.
He lay trembling in the dirt, no Alpha bond left to anchor him, no golden thread of power tying him to the pack. The silence of that severing was louder than any scream. He was hollow now, stripped of what he had clung to, and the emptiness radiating from him made the wolves around him shrink back. Wesle
