Amelia’s POV
The howls became routine.
They started every night around the same time—two, sometimes three in the morning—low and deliberate, rolling in from the northern tree line like a slow tide. Never crossing the markers. Never close enough for the betas to engage. Just close enough to be heard. Close enough to remind us they were waiting.
The first few nights the triplets slept through them. Then Jasmine woke crying one evening, clutching her stuffed wolf to her chest. “The bad wolves are singing again,” she whispered. Jaden sat up next, rubbing his eyes, trying to look brave. Jamin just stared at the window, small hands fisted in his blanket.
I couldn’t let fear settle in their bones.
So I invented moon songs.
We started that night in their room—lights off, only the soft glow o
