Third-Person POV
Leo's instincts screamed.
Something was wrong.
That scent—too sweet, too sharp. It wrapped around his lungs, choking him. His wolf thrashed violently inside him, claws ripping against his ribs, desperate to break free.
But his body wouldn't listen.
"Scarlett…" he breathed, his voice weak, almost broken.
She moved closer, her steps slow and careful. Every movement was perfect. Too perfect. The girl he remembered never moved like this—never so controlled, so… calculated.
"I'm here, Leo," she whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek.
Cold.
Scarlett was never cold.
His brows pulled together slightly, confusion cutting through the haze. "No…" he murmured, his head shaking weakly. "You don't feel right…"
Her hand paused for a split second.
Then she smiled—soft, gentle, exactly like Scarlett used to.
"Don't fight me," she said. "You're just tired."
Tired.
Yes… he was so tired.
