Crassus stood in his study, one hand gripping the edge of the desk while the other held his phone limply by his side. Caspian's words echoed in his mind, sharp and relentless. The call had ended, but the implications still clawed at his thoughts.
How Estella is growing stronger than any She wolf he had ever seen. Then he thought about the royal pack. The first wolves. A lineage so old, so revered, that most considered it myth. Crassus had long suspected something was unique about Estella, but now everything pointed to the truth—she was a descendant of the royal pack.
He stared blankly at the far wall, mind spinning. Estella's rapid development, her instincts, the strange pull she had over others—it all made sense now. Her blood wasn't diluted by time; it was potent, ancient, pure. And then came the memory. That page in the old tome. The prophecy.
