The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond

Camille’s room was chaos.

Blood sprayed the wall near the window fresh and bright, still wet enough to gleam under the lanterns. The guard lay in a heap near the dresser, his throat torn open. His claws were still half-shifted, fingers frozen in a death grip around the dagger he’d never had time to use.

Magnolia stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning every inch of the room.

Camille was gone.

The bed was unmade, blankets thrown to the floor, one of the drapes sliced clean through like someone had bolted through it mid-shift. The scent of her wolf lingered, muddled and wild, but it wasn’t alone.

Another scent.

Ash.

And underneath it... something colder. Older.

Magnolia walked to the dresser, her hand hovering above the edge where blood had splattered. Her fingers didn’t shake, but her heart did.

This wasn’t an escape.

It was a release.