The gates of the pack had not opened for an outsider in a long time.

Not since the night the victims of the old rules were rescued .

So when the iron bars groaned upward at dawn, every wolf in the courtyard froze.

Even the guards. Even the wind.

Ella stepped through first.

She hadn’t changed.

Still tall. Still composed. Still wearing white like she owned the snow. Her dark hair was braided with silver cords , the mark of a pack envoy, not a rogue. The scent of pine clung to her cloak, sharp and deliberate. She wasn’t here to visit. She was here to claim after being exiled....