WESLEY’S POV
The war room stank of old parchment and iron. I barely noticed.
I stood at the far end, hands clenched behind my back, gaze fixed on the cracked wall where moonlight bled in through a narrow window. The scout’s voice trembled as he delivered the report. Each word made the blood in my veins burn hotter.
“She’s alive.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“Ellie, sir. She’s alive.”
Then he paused.
“She’s not only alive, she’s also adapting.” He added.
That word. Adapting.
Like she was some wounded thing learning to crawl out of the hole I left her in.
Of course she is.
Of course she wouldn’t just die like she was supposed to.
I closed my eyes, jaw tightening.
“How?” I asked quietly.
The scout hesitated. “They say she’s training. Under Crimson Fang.”
That nam
