Chapter 18. The Heart of the Pack

Mira drifted into consciousness slowly, reluctantly, as though even her mind wasn’t certain it was ready to rise. Light poured across her closed lids, warm and golden, drawing her further upward. She blinked against it.

Morning. Clear and bright. Too bright. She sank deeper for a moment, reluctant to move, the plush mattress cocooning her in comfort.

Slowly, Mira sat up. Her hand moved automatically to her chest, then down her sides, tracing the strange smoothness of the fabric she wore. No flannel. No cotton. The shirt she’d borrowed—Kaelen’s—was gone. In its place, she wore something finer: silks, soft as water, dyed in muted forest hues. The clothes were beautiful, tailored to fit, clearly chosen with care—but not by her.

She didn’t remember arriving here. Not this room. Not this bed. The last image she could grasp was the low thrum of a car engine beneath her spine, Kaelen’s voice murmuring softly in the background. Her head had fallen against him as sleep over