Sienna POV
The kitchen smelled of rosemary, hot iron, and slow-roasted meat—something that made a wolf’s instincts stir.
Sienna stood barefoot at the counter, one hip pressed into the worn oak, fingers steady as she chopped garlic. The rhythm calmed her. It always had. Chop. Drag. Chop. Drag. Control something small when everything else felt… not.
That was when the air shifted.
Not a sound.
Not a scent.
A pressure.
Sienna froze, knife mid-lift.
Her skin prickled. The kind of awareness you didn’t learn—you inherited it. She turned slowly.
Celeste stood near the doorway, pale as moonlight, edges soft, not quite solid. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, eyes too bright, body faintly translucent like fog caught in a human shape.
Sienna didn’t scream.
She swung.
The knife pas
