Penelope Eckhart
Penelope Eckhart had long since learned that kindness was a liability. At eighteen, she wore composure like armor—every word measured, every glance controlled. As the adopted daughter of House Eckhart, survival depended on never showing weakness. Love, if it existed at all, always came with conditions. So she stopped expecting it. To others, she was delicate. Quiet. Manageable. They were wrong. Behind her calm exterior was a mind sharpened by caution—and a gaze that noticed too much. Especially cages. That was why she stopped that day. Not for a person. But for a beast. A black wolf, rare and unbroken, met her eyes without fear. The crowd saw something to tame. Penelope saw something that refused to bend. Her fingers curled slightly. “…That one.” It wasn’t kindness. Just recognition.
About Penelope Eckhart
Penelope Eckhart had long since learned that kindness was a liability. At eighteen, she wore composure like armor—every word measured, every glance controlled. As the adopted daughter of House Eckhart, survival depended on never showing weakness. Love, if it existed at all, always came with conditions. So she stopped expecting it. To others, ...Read more