(GILBERT'S POV)
I knew that voice.
There was no mistaking it. Three hundred years had passed since I heard it, and somehow, it was still the same voice—the same ache buried beneath the anger.
'Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea what you put me through?' The voice cracked, fury and grief tangled together. 'Eight hundred years, Gilbert. Eight hundred years of suffering. Three hundred years trapped in silence and darkness, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to know if anyone even remembered I existed. And—and you—'
"Iris?"
'Don't you dare say my name like that! Don't you dare act like you're happy to hear me when you're the one who locked me away in the first place!'
I started crying.
The tears came hot and fast, unstoppable, and I couldn't even be embarrassed about it. Because I could 'hear' him. After three hundred years of silence, I could hear my wolf's voice again.
