*** Ariana’s POV
Stepping out of the packhouse behind Cirian, I’m greeted by a crisp breeze that carries the sharp scent of pine.
We must be farther north than Draven’s pack.
Cirian glances back, his steps slowing. “Shall we?” he asks, extending a hand.
I don’t take it, but I follow him. That’s answer enough.
Despite my best intention to stay calm and civil, the cold bite in the air feels like an apt comparison to my mood.
Waking up to Cirian sitting at the end of my bed and chit-chatting at me through the bathroom door while I was changing still has me off-kilter.
Thank the Goddess I had swapped out the nightclothes Elara had chosen for me before going to bed.
The ground crunches softly beneath our boots as we walk, the wide path leading deeper into the settlement.
Ahead, buildings come into view—rows of them, neat but unpolished. Their wooden frames look sturdy, their construction deliberate. Wolves move between them, talking in quiet tones, some carrying supplies, others watching
