Chapter 71 Skylar 🐺

• She's staring into the flames, watching as they dance to the rhythm of the morning breeze.
• Her eyes are as dead as the first time I saw her at the Pack House. Glazed over, empty, eerily clear—the lightest shade of magickster purple I've ever seen—and completely disinterested in the world around her.
• Snatching my attention from her, my eyes fall to the impaled rabbit in front of me, gently roasting above the fire.