The collapse didn’t happen in the forest. It waited. Calla held herself together through the walk back to the estate, through the murmured acknowledgments of the wolves who stepped aside as she passed, through the quiet efficiency of Adrian’s men opening gates and clearing paths. She kept her spine straight, her breath even, her face calm. But something inside her was unraveling.
It felt like heat draining from her bones—slow, insidious—like embers being pulled from a fire one by one. The silver glow beneath her skin dulled, then flickered, as if uncertain whether to stay. Adrian felt it before she did. Her steps faltered just past the threshold of the inner hall. “Calla,” he said sharply. She turned toward him, opened her mouth to answer—and the world tilted. Adrian caught her as she wen
