The days passed like slow-moving shadows in the Valeblood Pack. The once warm halls felt colder, quieter… heavier.

Aria hadn’t spoken a word to Lucien since the day she found out the truth.

She avoided him like the plague—changing rooms during meals, keeping her door locked, retreating into long walks around the forested edges of the pack grounds. When they crossed paths, she’d look right through him, and Lucien would pretend not to be dying a little inside each time.

Talia tried to comfort her, but even their bond had been strained.

One morning, Aria sat outside in the gardens, resting on the stone bench beneath the weeping willow. Her...