Lina's POV
They didn't call it a prison. They never do.
They called it a wing of the Shadowmoon estate, with tall windows that looked out over pine forest and a bed softer than anything I'd slept in for years. But there were guards at the door, and the windows didn't open past a hand's width, and no one had brought me my phone back since the night I woke.
Soft cage or not, a cage is still a cage. My wolf paced it every hour, and so did I.
Three days in, the door opened without a knock and a man stepped through.
I knew him before I knew how I knew him. He was tall now, broad through the shoulders, nothing at all like the small boy who'd pressed a wooden wolf into my hand.
But the eyes were the same. The eyes had been holding my hand in a memory I hadn't known I owned.
