ADAM
She was powerful.
The thought struck me with the weight of inevitability, settling deep in my chest as I watched Sage stand there, her brow drawn tight after the priest's words.
The faint rumble of the waters had not yet stilled. It lingered, vibrating through the chamber like an aftershock, as if the cave itself was reluctant to forget her presence.
Powerful wasn't even the right word. She had made the waters move.
My fingers curled slowly at my sides. That wasn't supposed to happen. Not without a trial. Not without a child stepping forward to be measured by fate and blood and bone. And yet the pool had stirred the moment she crossed the threshold, answering her like an old friend—or a subject recognizing its sovereign.
Just like Dora.
The memory rose unbidden, sharp and unwelcome. Six years ago, this same chamber. The same low hum.
My wolf stirred. I told you. She is one and the same.
"No," I thought back immediately, almost violently. "That's not possible."
