Elena
You ever feel like you’re the spare tire in a family that’s already blown out? That’s me, kneeling in tundra slush, staring at Isabella’s motionless body, her glow gone after sparking runes that weren’t the bloodline’s but hers, a desperate cry for Rosalia. Angelo’s slumped, blood pooling, his eyes burning with her plea, “Find her,” now Isabella’s too.
The wolves are gone, scattered into the dark, and Luca’s staggering, his knife dropped, his betrayal of Angelo a raw wound. Camila’s pinned under my grip, her glow dead, her hatred for Rosalia a fire that won’t quit. Moretti’s laugh echoes, his talisman cracked but alive, his wolves lurking somewhere. The citadel’s portal is closed, the bloodline’s power vanished, and Rosalia’s fall into that chasm, her forgiveness to Isabella, is a
