THE SOFT ONE

Ren didn't ask again what the elders wanted, but he stuck close the rest of the afternoon like he thought I might disappear if he looked away too long, so I let him drag me out to the gardens instead of arguing about it.

"You don't have to babysit me," I said, settling onto a bench under one of the flowering trees.

"I'm not babysitting."

"You've checked on me four times in the last ten minutes."

"That's just being attentive."

"That's babysitting with extra steps."

He huffed but sat down next to me anyway, close enough that our shoulders almost touched, and started picking at the hem of his sleeve, which I was starting to recognize as something he did when he wanted to ask a question and hadn't decided if he was allowed to yet.

"You can just ask," I told him.

"Ask what."

"Whatever you're sitting there not asking."

He looked at me sideways, caught, and gave up the pretense. "Are you alright. Actually alright, not the alright you say when you don't want anyone to worry."

I thought about lying and decided he'd see through it anyway. "I'm getting there."

He nodded slowly, like that was an acceptable answer for now, and reached over to fix a piece of hair that had fallen across my face, tucking it back so gently I almost forgot he had hands capable of tearing through an enemy's throat. The contrast between Ren and Zayen kept hitting me at random moments like this, how Zayen gave me space to come to him while Ren just folded himself around wherever I happened to be standing.

"Come on," he said after a minute, standing and offering his hand. "Let me check your wrist properly. You've been favoring it since this morning."

"I have not."

"You have. Come on."

I hadn't noticed I was doing it, but once he said it I realized my wrist did ache a little, probably from catching myself on the ladder earlier, a detail I had no plans of explaining to him.

His healing room smelled like dried herbs and something faintly sweet, shelves lined with jars of things I couldn't name, all organized in a way that told me this space mattered to him more than most. He sat me down on a low stool and took my wrist in both hands, careful, turning it slowly while his brow pulled together in concentration.

"Just strained," he said. "Nothing serious."

"Told you it was fine."

"You told me it didn't hurt. Which was a lie."

"A small one."

He huffed again, fighting a smile, and reached past me for a jar of something green, and that was when I made the mistake of trying to help by grabbing for a different jar on the shelf behind me, which sent the entire tray of dried herbs sitting there crashing straight onto the floor.

The silence that followed lasted about two seconds before Ren started laughing.

Not the polite, restrained sound he usually made, but something real, shoulders shaking, head tipped back, like the herbs all over his floor had broken something loose in him that had been wound tight all day.

"It's not that funny," I said, though I was fighting a laugh myself watching him.

"It's a little funny."

"It's mildly funny."

"You've destroyed three days of drying work in two seconds, Iris."

"In my defense, the shelf attacked first."

He kept laughing while we cleaned it up together, and something in his shoulders had loosened by the time we finished, like the laugh had let out pressure that had been building since the council doors opened that morning.

"Better?" I asked, watching him.

"Better," he admitted.

I should have left it there, but curiosity got the better of me. "Can I ask you something."

"Depends what it is."

"You flinch every time shifting comes up. I noticed it earlier when Zayen mentioned patrol forms, and again just now when I said wolf. Why."

His hands stilled on the jar he was holding, and the easy warmth from a second ago dimmed just slightly, replaced by something more careful.

"It's nothing," he said, which was clearly a lie, the same kind I'd told him about my wrist.

"Ren."

He set the jar down slowly, not looking at me, and I waited instead of pushing, because pushing clearly wasn't going to get me anywhere with him.

"I can shift," he finally said, quiet, almost apologetic about it. "It's just that my wolf still looks like a half grown cub. Even now. It never filled out the way it's supposed to, and the other Lykora, the warriors, they all have these massive forms, and mine looks like something that wandered off from its mother. So I don't. Shift, I mean. Not where anyone can see."

I waited a second to make sure he was done before I said anything, because I didn't want him to think I was rushing past it.

"Eira probably looked ridiculous at some point too," I said. "She's a Luna wolf and even she had to start somewhere. I bet there's a version of her out there that looked like a wet mop."

That earned a startled laugh, half disbelief, half relief that I hadn't reacted the way he'd clearly braced for.

"I'd like to meet cub Ren someday," I added. "Whenever you're ready. No pressure."

He looked at me then, really looked, something soft and a little stunned in his expression, like he hadn't expected that response from anyone, let alone me. When I reached over and touched his arm, he leaned into it without thinking, the way someone leans into warmth on a cold day, easy and unguarded in a way Zayen never let himself be.

"Thank you," he said, quiet again, but a different kind of quiet this time.

"Don't thank me. Just show me eventually."

"Eventually," he agreed, and the word sounded like a promise more than an excuse.

I stood to leave not long after, my wrist properly wrapped and my mood considerably lighter than it had been that morning, and as I reached for the door I caught sight of his healing satchel hanging on its hook, worn soft from years of use.

Stitched into the corner, faded but still visible, was a crest I didn't recognize.

It wasn't Arcadia's mark, nothing close to the wolf and moon I'd seen carved into every door in this place. This one looked older, different, like it belonged to somewhere else entirely.

I didn't ask about it, not yet, but I made a note to find out where it came from.