CONNOR POV
The moment we stepped into the dungeons, the stench hit me so hard I almost choked on it.
Fear has a smell. Most people don’t realize it until it’s thick enough to taste. They think it’s sweat, piss, blood—but that’s only the surface. Real fear is sharper, metallic and sour, like something decaying from the inside out. It clung to the stone walls, crept into my lungs, coated the back of my throat until my wolf snarled low and ugly, demanding blood.
Grace gagged beside me.
Not weakly. Not dramatically. Just a sharp, instinctive reaction—her body rejecting what her mind hadn’t processed yet.
Anne was at her side immediately, steady as stone, fingers brushing Grace’s arm.
“Breathe through your mouth,” she murmured. “Slow. It’ll help.”
Grace nodded once, jaw tightening, and d
