It had been three days since the fire.
Sienna was healing slowly, still sore, but her burns were improving thanks to the healer's salves. The pack had stopped glaring at her. Some even nodded in her direction now — cautious, unsure, but no longer full of hate.
Daemon hadn't returned since that day in her room. But she could feel his presence. Watching. From the shadows.
Then came the note.
It was folded neatly beneath her pillow one morning. Written in quick, slanted script:
"Your curse is not real. Seek the Black Stone. —S"
She froze.
S?
Sage?
She looked around, but no one was nearby.
Her heart pounded as she read the words again. The curse is not real. Could it be true?
Her whole life, people whispered she brought misfortune. Wolves fell sick around her. Her parents died in a mysterious fire. And then, the prophecy — Daemon's prophecy — had sealed her fate.
But what if it had all been planted?
What if someone wanted them to believe she was cursed?
Sienna spent the rest of the day quietly observing Sage. The healer acted normally, tending to injured warriors, giving instructions to apprentices — but once, just once, their eyes met. Sage gave her the slightest nod.
It was true.
She wasn't imagining it.
That night, Sienna couldn't sleep. She lay awake staring at the moon outside her window, clutching the note in her hands.
If the curse was a lie, who made it up?
And why?
Far across the pack grounds, Daemon sat in his office, flipping through an old book on prophecy. His fingers stopped on a page titled:
False Fates and Blood Curses.
He stared at it, unaware that Sienna was beginning to ask the exact same questions.