No one in Crimson Fang spoke to Isla unless they had to. No one trusted her. No one wanted her there.
She was an outsider.
And maybe that was better.
She had thought she could blend in. Train, do her chores, sleep. Repeat. Be invisible.
Except she wasn’t.
Because Draven wouldn’t let her be.
She felt him watching her—always. During training, when the warriors knocked her down harder than necessary. During meals, when she ate alone, pretending not to hear the whispers. Even in the quiet moments, when she thought she was **finally alone—**only to glance up and find his eyes on her.
