Three days.
That's all they had before the witch came back.
Before she left another warning, another message, another victim.
And Opal had only three weeks to do the impossible—
Find her fated mate. Or choose one.
The weight of it all pressed against her chest, suffocating and relentless.
So she did what she always did when her mind felt like a battlefield.
She went to see her father.
A Conversation That Needed to Happen
Opal's POV
Alpha Griffin sat behind his desk, flipping through some reports, his silver eyes calm but calculating.
Across from him, Ash sat in his usual moody stance—arms crossed, jaw locked, pure stubbornness radiating off him.
Opal stood, pacing the length of the room, trying to keep her temper in check.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
Ash snorted. "That's the understatement of the year."
She turned, narrowing her gaze at him. "And what exactly do you suggest I do? I have three damn weeks, Ash."
