AMAYA.

The celebration in the  Hall was still humming downstairs, but I couldn't be there anymore.

 The air had turned thick. Every scent—the roasted meat, the  floor wax, the perfume of the she-wolves was hitting me like a physical blow. But it wasn't just my senses being sharp. 

I slipped out of the hall, my skin itching under my dress. My heart was thumping a rhythm that didn't match the music. It was faster. More desperate.

"Amaya?"

I didn't stop. I knew that voice. It was Javier. I could smell him from twenty feet away—that intoxicating mix of ozone, rain, and something spicy that belonged only to him. Usually, his...