Hope's POV.
The clearing is empty.
I step into it slowly, my boots brushing through the long, dew-wet grass. The air is still, but it feels wrong—like the quiet before a storm, the kind that doesn’t just bring rain but tears apart everything in its path.
Malachai isn’t here.
Of course he isn’t. He’s making me wait. It’s a power play. A message.
You came to me.
I don’t sit. I don’t pace. I just stand there in the middle of the clearing, breathing like it might steady the war inside me.
But it doesn’t.
A million thoughts tear through my mind.
What if he sees right through me?
What if I can’t lie well enough? What if I slip? What if he doesn’t believe that I’ve turned my back on the wolves?
What if he does?
Because that might be worse.
I clench my fists to stop them from shaking.
