[Third Person].
Xamira clawed desperately at Meredith's wrist, her small hands trembling as her breath came in shallow, broken gasps. Her face flushed deep red, eyes wide with panic.
"My… lady…" she choked.
The expression on Meredith's face did not soften. Valmora was there now—fully present, her presence cold and merciless behind Meredith's eyes.
"Who," Valmora asked through Meredith, her voice edged with scorn, "is your lady?"
Something shifted in Xamira's gaze, and a sharp and immediate understanding dawned on her. This wasn't the gentle Luna who had drawn gardens with her on the floor.
This was her wolf. And if she stayed like this for another heartbeat, she would die.
Therefore, in a sudden burst of light and motion, Xamira's body slipped free—shrinking, reshaping—until a green bird burst from Meredith's grasp and shot toward the open balcony door.
But it was already too late because, a moment later, the door slammed shut on its own.
