Angelo
The tundra’s silence feels like a betrayal, heavy with the weight of Rosalia’s absence, and Isabella’s whispered confession that she’s alive, felt through her runes, slices through me like a blade. I’m slumped in the slush, my blood seeping into the mud, every breath a battle as my wolf’s presence fades to nothing.
Isabella’s eyes, raw with guilt, hold mine, her words, “I lied,” a confession that Rosalia’s not lost in the chasm but calling to us, a lifeline I can’t grasp. Elena kneels beside her, her face a storm of hope and doubt, her hands trembling as she grips Isabella’s, pinning Camila’s limp form.
Luca stands frozen, his knife discarded, his betrayal of me, of the pack, a wound that festers in his cold stare. Moretti’s wolves lurk in the shadows, their growls low, his cra
