Rosalia
You ever hit rock bottom so hard you’re not sure if you’re fighting or just flailing? That’s me, screaming on a frozen tundra as Andre steps from a dark forest, glowing with a new journal, its runes blazing with my bloodline’s power, stolen again. My glow’s exploding, but it’s burning me out, and the wolves howl for him, not me.
The woman with Elena’s face, her glow searing, just claimed the bloodline, her voice a knife in my chest. Dad’s dead, his blood staining the ice, and the silver wolf, his wolf, is down, its last growl, “Claim it,” fading. Angelo’s barely alive, his eyes pleading, and Isabella’s bleeding, pinned by Luca’s knife. Elena’s fighting, her strength gone, and Rizzo’s talisman flickers, his claim on me a fading threat.
Camila’s betrayal lingers, her glow dim, a
