Chapter 48 Not Over

Fynn POV “Lira?” I gasp, my voice breaking, the pack tensing, blades up, Morgan’s growl rumbling, Elena’s curse sharp. It’s her—Lira, the Warden, dead, her gold dagger buried in the well, her body under the oaks—but here, alive, red-eyed, red light pulsing in her hands, not gold, not chaos, but wild, like mine, like the maw’s.