Jefferson's POV
Years had taught me that miracles were nothing more than cruel jokes fate played on the desperate. Hope was a luxury I could no longer afford, stripped away by loss and betrayal until only cold pragmatism remained. Yet something stirred within me now, my wolf responding to an unfamiliar pull, a warmth that felt both foreign and undeniable.
My hand moved without conscious thought, fingers brushing against her skin. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me, and Elisabeth's sharp gasp shattered the heavy silence like breaking glass.
She bolted upright, eyes wild with terror. "Get away from me!" The raw panic in her voice cut deeper than any blade.
Relief flooded through me despite her rejection. She was breathing. She was alive.
I reached for her again, instinct driving me to offer comfort I wasn't sure I possessed, but she scrambled backward as if my touch would destroy her. The fear blazing in her eyes was absolute, consuming.
