Nevara
The files were still spread across the desk when I sat down the next morning, though they no longer looked the way they had days ago.
Before, the files had represented little more than possibilities. Now they felt like proof—proof that instinct deserved to be trusted, that caution had not become paranoia, and that genuine trust was not something granted once and assumed permanent, but something consciously chosen again and again.
The revelations from the antidote sweep had only sharpened that conviction. Discovering there had been fifty-three hidden wolves in the city, eight more within the castle itself, and Daniel Whitaker among them still sent a chill through me, because one wrong instinct ignored might have placed him inside my private household, moving near my children and s
