Chapter 93

Amelia

“Please stand up. I am not…” I begin, but Beatrice clamps her hand over mine, silencing me midsentence. I turn to face her, brows furrowed in confusion as she shakes her head urgently.

“They need it,” she rasps, desperation etched in the hollows of her cheeks.

“Need what?”

“Hope.”

Understanding dawns as I glance around at the sea of haunted faces turned towards me with longing.

“They think I’m Jane right now, don’t they? That’s why they called me their queen.”

I bear an uncanny resemblance to her, and in their malnourished state, they can barely detect my werewolf scent. Their supernatural senses are dulled.

Beatrice gives a jerky nod. “After everything they’ve been through, they need that hope to cling to.”

My gaze rakes over their emaciated forms—the protruding bones, cracked lips, and dull eyes reflecting a haunting mix of resignation and desperate longing. What unspeakable horrors led them to this state?