FREYA
The guest room they put me in was clean and carefully arranged. I hated it.
Not the Luna's quarters. Not anywhere near the Alpha's wing. A guest room, with a guest room's furniture, a narrow wardrobe and a writing desk and curtains that were expensive but not quite the same quality as the ones in the corridor I had walked through to get here. Someone had made a decision about what I was worth to this house and had expressed it in soft furnishings.
I stood at the window and looked out at the pack grounds below and thought about the fact that my name was no longer attached to Zoya's death.
