Rosalia
The cavern of the pack’s heart glows with an eerie light, its walls pulsing with runes that are faces—my pack, their eyes locked on me, their love a shield but also a chain. I’m standing, my glow faint, my body trembling from the effort of holding this place together, tethered to the pack’s heart that’s both my prison and my power. Angelo’s hand grips mine, his strength fading, his blood warm against my skin, his eyes fierce with love and guilt.
Elena’s beside me, blood streaming from her side, her face a storm of grief for Luca, whose lifeless body lies in the mud, his final glow spent to keep me solid. Andre stands before us, his glow dim, his hands raised in surrender, his words, “I was wrong,” a confession that could be truth or trap.
The chanters’ shadows lurk at the cave
