I flipped the page with steady hands.
Blank.
The next page—also blank.
My brows furrowed. I turned another, and another. All empty. Just silence and shadow between the lines.
Until one word surfaced—hovering not on paper, but in the air.
A glow. Pale and sharp.
“To unfold the story, you must become what she was.”
The words hung like mist. Then dissolved.
My heart dropped.
“What does that mean?” I muttered. I held the book tighter. “I’ve already fought. I’ve already bled. What more do you want from me?”
No answer came.
The pages stayed blank.
My wolf paced in my chest, frustrated.
"Not enough," she growled. "We aren’t enough yet. We have way more to go."
I hated it. I hated how close I had felt to my mother, only for the trail to vanish. The silence after so much truth felt cr
