POV: Rowan Kingsley
The bloody handprint on the cell door was still fresh.
I pressed my back against the tree, heart pounding as I stared at the proof I'd been hunting for three months. Someone had been here lately. Someone who was hurt and trying to get inside.
My phone buzzed with another message from Amara: Any news about my mother?
I couldn't tell her what I thought. Not yet. Not until I was sure.
The cabin looked empty, but I'd learned not to trust looks. I'd been tracking leads about Luna Seraphina Winters for weeks, following whispers and stories that most people dismissed as fantasy.
Everyone believed she was dead. Everyone except me.
I crept closer to the cabin, my nose picking up smells that made my blood run cold. Wolf blood. Fear. And something else—something familiar that I couldn't quite place.
The front door was open.