Belmor home? Ian and Clara ghosts—ignored, deleted. Revenge? Tempted, sure. But why soil my paws? Let 'em rot solo. One Simons swipe? Quinn crumbles—no propping Howard's husk.
"No quit. No mercy. I'll gut you—drag you howling to the pit!" Head thrash; blade whipped wild. "You! Your fault!"
"Blame the wolf who carved you—not me. Claw him, not my shadow." Sick of her blind rage; glare slid to the architect—Ian.
Sprawled still in his blood-puddle, tide pooling slow.
"Without you? He spares me this!" Tremors racked her; banshee howl. "You! For your payback—your forgiveness... Dad and Mom? Ghosted me. Tossed me and the scraps to him. Don't give a damn if I breathe..."
Her ramble pieced the moons: Ian's blackout at the house's stoop, clawing for my trail out Joravia.
Edward's shadows? Blan
