The Morrigans were breaking apart in front of my eyes.
Grief had hollowed them out, but beneath the pain, I could feel something else rising.
Rage.
They were no longer confused. They were no longer in denial. They wanted blood. They wanted the person who had destroyed their pack brought down.
I had achieved what I came for.
I did not comfort them.
When I died by the river, no one fought for me. No one searched hard enough. They chose to believe what was convenient. If I did not mock them now, that was already kindness.
The only thing that unsettled me was the silence from Malcom. He had promised to think about old enemies from Grandma's era, but there were no updates.
If Camilla hated Grandma that deeply, the grudge must have started decades ago.
Back then, communication was slow. Records were easy to erase. The country was still unstable, alliances shifting like sand. Digging into that era felt like chasing shadows.
