PAULINE POV
It had been a week.
Seven days since I pulled the trigger.
Seven days since Cain’s twisted body hit the stone floor like a felled beast, the tendrils of whatever unholy thing he’d become slithering away into the shadows.
Seven days since I became a killer.
I’d thought it would feel different. Maybe darker. Heavier. I’d imagined sleepless nights, shaking hands, eyes that refused to close without seeing his face again—contorted in rage, in pain, in shock when the bullet tore through his chest. But instead, I slept like the dead the night after. Rett curled around my back like a shield. Robert’s steady breathing grounding me on the other side. I was sandwiched between their warmth, between the two wolves who refused to let me fall.
Still, the memory was sharp. Not haunting,
