40: ECHOES OF THE REWRITTEN

AYLA – POV

We didn't leave the ash immediately.

It has become a part of us.

The world beyond the gate waited—familiar and unknown all at once—but we lingered in the ruin of what had been unmade. Because endings, even necessary ones, deserve breath before rebirth.

Solen didn't ask questions. She watched everything.

Each movement Kael made. Each ripple of thread is still spiraling faintly from the ground. Each time I inhaled like I wasn't sure air would answer.

She was learning.

And she was dangerous.

Not because she would harm.

But because she could.

Solen was a thread born not of bond, but of rewrite—no rules, no weight, no past. And wolves like that rewrite others just by being.

Kael wrapped Callen's shoulder.

The spiral had faded, but she still looked hollowed out—like the song she sang in the loom hadn't left her throat, just changed it.

"She shouldn't speak for a while," I said.