(Adele's POV)
The Crescent Pack House blazed with light against the dark winter sky.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling of the grand ballroom, casting warm gold across the crowd below. Wolves from every notable pack in Silvercrest City had gathered here, their expensive clothes and gleaming jewelry announcing their status before they ever opened their mouths.
And at the center of it all stood Valerie Crescent.
She wore emerald green, the fabric clinging to every curve like it had been made specifically to be remembered. Her smile was perfect. It had always been perfect. I had watched her practice it in the mirror when we were teenagers, the same slight lift at the corners, the same warm tilt of the head, repeated until it looked effortless.
She was Harrison and Miranda Crescent's adopted daughter. Technically, that made her my foster sister.
I had never once felt like we were family.
Around the edges of the room, guests leaned toward each other and spoke in the careful murmurs that rich people use when they want to gossip without appearing to.
I caught fragments as Eric guided me through the crowd.
Still no mate at thirty. Can you imagine.
I heard the engagement with the Crimson alpha is practically finished.
Such a shame. She was always so difficult.
That last one was about me. I didn't have to guess.
My father Harrison raised his glass toward Valerie from across the room, his voice booming over the music as he offered a toast to his daughter. The crowd applauded. Valerie pressed a hand to her heart and laughed like she was genuinely moved.
I kept my expression neutral and clapped along with everyone else.
Eric's hand rested on my lower back, and I had to concentrate to keep from stepping away from it. His touch felt like a formality. Like something he was doing because we were in public and it was expected.
Cora felt it too. The absence of warmth in that hand. The way his wolf Noah wasn't reaching for her at all.
My palms still ached beneath the bandages. The silver poisoning hadn't fully healed. Every time I flexed my fingers, I felt it.
"Smile more," Eric said quietly, his voice close to my ear. "You look like you're attending a funeral."
"I've been performing at events like this my entire life," I said, keeping my voice equally low. "Don't coach me."
His jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing.
My mother appeared before I could take a breath.
Miranda moved through social gatherings like water finding its level. She arrived at my side with a glass of red wine in one hand and a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"You're late," she said. The smile didn't waver. "People noticed."
"We were here within the hour you specified," I said.