Scarlett POV
Stepping off the plane into Sweden felt like crossing into another world.
Clean, cold air hit my lungs first—sharp with pine and something mineral that made my inner wolf stretch and sniff, curious instead of wary.
Everything looked different from back home: pale light, quiet streets, people who actually smiled at strangers without an angle. I spent a few days wandering, then hopped a ferry to Denmark.
Nordic air was the kind that scrubbed your head clean.
For once, the old messes- Ashfords, the company politics, the constant low-grade dread- felt far enough away that I could almost forget them.
I was standing in a narrow Copenhagen alley eating a hot dog when my phone buzzed.
Delaney.
“Scarlett. You’ve had your fun. Time to come home. The Ashfords are finished.”
H
