The storm had passed, but the silence it left was worse.
The pack moved among the dead, burying wolves beneath snow and stone. Every howl was a dirge, every clawful of earth thrown a promise of vengeance.
Aradia stood apart, her cloak heavy around her shoulders, her fire flickering weakly at her fingertips. She could still feel the shadow's touch, the suffocating cold, the endless hunger that had whispered her name.
Kael found her by the river, where the ice cracked under the weight of winter. His green eyes were shadowed, his jaw tight. He held something in his hands—a fragment of stone, etched with runes, blackened as though scorched by fire centuries old.
He offered it to her. "This is yours."
Her brows furrowed. "I've never seen it."
"You have," Kael said softly. "Not in this life. In the last."
The stone pulsed faintly when she touched it, warmth bleeding into her palm, and suddenly a vision seared through her mind:
A circle of fire. Wolves howling. A younger self, cloaked in black, chanting spells of war. And Kael—her Kael—standing at her side, his wolf burning with power.
And the shadow rising.
She gasped, dropping the stone, her knees buckling. Kael caught her, pulling her against his chest.
"Aradia," he murmured, his lips against her hair. "You are the last witch of the Veil. The bloodline that once fought the shadow. You have lived before. We both have."
Her tears burned her cheeks. "And we failed."
His hand gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his blazing eyes. "Then we do not fail again."
The vow in his voice anchored her storm, and though fear coiled inside her, she clung to him as though he was the only truth in a world built of shadows.