I woke before dawn with my muscles coiled tight, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my ribs. The chamber Nicero had given me was carved into the citadel wall, dark stone polished smooth, no symbols of rank or comfort. Only a narrow window slashed into the rock, overlooking the forest canopy stretching endlessly below.
No banners.
No silver sigils.
No reminders that I had ever been Luna.
I rose and dressed in the plain tunic left on the chair. The fabric smelled faintly of cedar and iron — Blackfang’s scent. It clung to me as if testing whether I would resist it.
I didn’t.
I slipped from the room into the corridor, moving quietly, unwilling to announce myself in territory that had not yet decided whether I was prey or guest.
The citadel was already awake.
Wolves in half-shifted form crossed the stone bridges suspended between towers, their eyes flicking toward
me with frank curiosity. No one bowed. No one stepped aside. In Silvermoon, even warriors had dipped their heads when I passed. Here, I was just another wolf walking through stone and shadow.
It stung more than I expected.