The Mark That Bled
The storm did not break when dawn came.
It only softened—like a predator retreating into the fog, not gone, merely waiting.
Aria stood at the edge of the eastern watchtower, the wind tugging at her dark cloak as pale light filtered through the fractured clouds. Below her, the valley lay scarred—trees split, earth blackened where power had torn through stone and flesh alike. The aftermath of Chapter 54 still lingered in the air, thick with blood, ozone, and fear.
Behind her, the pack moved in hushed urgency.
No one spoke loudly anymore.
Not after what had happened.
Not after the mark reacted.
Aria pressed her fingers to her left collarbone where the Alpha sigil lay hidden beneath skin and muscle. It was quiet now. Dormant.
But she could still feel it.
A pulse.
