Angelo
You don’t get to pick when your world ends, but Rosalia’s scream as she fell into that chasm, her eyes forgiving Isabella with a whispered, “Save them,” is mine. I’m slumped on the tundra’s cracked ice, blood pooling, my wolf a dead echo as the wolves’ eerie glow fades, their eyes empty, the bloodline’s power gone. Isabella’s frozen, Luca’s knife at her throat, her face shattered by Rosalia’s forgiveness, a weight heavier than my guilt. Elena’s crumpled, her screams silent, and the citadel’s portal is swallowed, the throne, the journals, the talismans, all gone. Camila’s glow is dead, her betrayal a lingering poison, and Moretti’s wolves are scattered, his talisman dark. The woman, Lila, Andre, the man, they’re gone, but Rosalia’s plea burns, and I’m failing her, my secrets a chain
