“He is trying to take it,” Celeste corrects, “and you are in his way.”
My stomach twists, because that clicks into place too easily, the agitation, the whispers, the way tension spikes whenever Daniel enters a room.
“He will get rid of you as soon as he believes he can,” she adds, “either by forcing you out, or by turning the pack against you, or by handing you to someone who wants what you are.”
Silence stretches thick between us, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead, and I feel something settle in my chest that is heavier than fear and sharper than anger.
“So staying is dangerous,” I say slowly, “and leaving is worse.”
“Yes,” Celeste says simply.
Axel steps closer then, his voice low but steady. “She is not alone.”
Celeste’s gaze shifts to him, then to Atticus. “No,”
