The morning sunlight was pale and hesitant, filtering through the curtains like it was unsure whether it should enter. I lay on my bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, my fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. My arm throbbed where the blade had cut me yesterday, a steady, persistent pulse that made my stomach twist. It wasn't just the wound something about it felt… wrong. Uneasy.
My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, muscles coiled and itching for movement. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but an unshakable tension, a constant awareness of something unseen. Every shadow in the room seemed to whisper, every floorboard groan made me jump. Damian's scent, once overwhelming and smothering, had weakened, but it was still there, faint and impossible to ignore.
