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The guards stopped at the tree line.Lucien said something to them quietly, two words at most, and they fell back without question. Alira watched them go and then looked at Lucien."Where exactly," she said, "are you taking me?""Walk," he said, and moved into the trees.She did not move immediately. She looked at the tree line, then at his back, then at the six wolves now standing at a distance that was no longer close enough to matter."I want to be clear," she called after him, "that if you are planning to kill me in the middle of these woods and feed what is left to whatever lives out here, I think it is a very poor use of my wish agreement."He did not stop walking. "You have terrible survival instincts," he said, from somewhere between the trees."I have excellent survival instincts," she said, walking after him. "They are what is making me ask the question."She caught up to him and fell into step beside him, and the trees closed around them and the torchlight from the keep dis
Alira was sitting on the edge of her bed with a book she had not been reading for the past hour when she heard it. One firm knock on her door. She knew who it was before she reached the door.Lucien stood in the corridor in a clean shirt, no training clothes, no blood, no evidence of whatever the day had cost him except the slight tension still sitting in his jaw."Have you decided," he said, "what you want?"Alira didn’t need to ask what he was talking about because she understood immediately what he was talking about. She had been thinking about it since the night in the infirmary. She had turned over every practical option. Her freedom of movement. Her formal clearance from suspicion. A letter to her father that would never be answered. She had considered all of it and dismissed all of it and came back, every time, to the same simple thing."Yes," she said.He waited."I want to go outside," she said. "A walk around the grounds, outside the keep walls. Fresh air and open sky, and
The training ground was quiet at that hour.Most wolves did not come out this early. The sun had barely made up its mind about the morning, and the ground was still wet from the night before. Lucien had been out here for an hour already, working through drills alone, the kind of repetitive, focused work that kept the hands busy and left the mind free to do what it needed to do.Soren arrived the way he always arrived. He dropped into position across from Lucien with the ease of a man who had done this more times than he could count, and they fell into it without a word, the way men did when they had sparred together long enough that the opening was just understood.They had been at it since before Ironmoor fell.Soren knew his footwork. Lucien knew his tells. They had long since stopped being able to genuinely surprise each other, which was the point. There was comfort in that, in fighting someone who knew exactly what you were and met it without ceremony.They worked in silence for a
The infirmary smelled of blood and unwashed field dressings, which told her everything she needed to know before she even looked at the patients.She looked anyway. Moving from bed to bed the way she had been trained to, starting with the worst and working outward. Three deep lacerations, badly dressed in the field, the kind of rushed work that happened when people were trying to keep someone alive long enough to get them somewhere better. One shoulder wound that had gone deep and been bleeding long enough that the wolf's colour was wrong. Two chest cases breathing shallowly in a way she did not like at all.She set her satchel down and looked at Wren."The shoulder first," she said. "Then the chest cases. The lacerations can wait thirty minutes, they are not going anywhere.""The shoulder has been bleeding since before they rode back," Wren said."I can see that," Alira said, already moving. "What did you use to pack it?""Standard field compress," Wren said. "It is not holding.""It
Alira had not left her room in three days.Wren had come twice. The first time Alira had opened the door and taken the food and said she was fine in a tone that meant the conversation was over. The second time, she had not opened the door at all, just said she was sleeping, and Wren had stood outside for a moment and then left without pushing, because Wren understood, without being told, the difference between someone who needed company and someone who needed walls.Alira needed walls.She sat on the edge of her bed on the third morning and looked at the grey light coming through the narrow window and thought about nothing in particular, which was its own kind of thinking. She had done everything right. She had been careful and precise, and she had handed this pack the truth on a clean plate and it had not mattered. Her father's name had mattered. The fact that she was Roric's daughter in a pack that had bled because of Roric had mattered more than anything she had found or proved or
"You are a long way from wherever you came from," Lucien said."Not so far," the rogue said. His accent was northern. "Close enough to know what you have inside those walls. Close enough to know it does not belong to you."Lucien looked at him steadily. "Last chance to walk away from this.""Last chance," Lucien said, "to walk away from this."The rogue smiled, and that was his first mistake.His second was throwing the first punch.What happened after that was not a fight in any clean sense of the word. Lucien did not step back. He did not calculate, measure or find a pattern. Something in him that was usually kept behind several layers of composure came forward all at once, and what replaced it was not rage exactly, it was something colder and more total than rage, the part of him that had built this pack out of rubble and buried its dead and sworn, in the specific and unforgiving way that men swore things over graves, that nothing inside these walls would be taken again.He hit the
Nobody came to show her to breakfast.Alira had been awake since before the sun came up, which meant she had not really slept. She had lain in the unfamiliar bed and listened to the sounds of a new territory settling into morning. Distant voices. The creak of a gate. Somewhere, a mut barking once a
Nobody spoke on the ride back to Ashveil.Lucien rode at the front. Alira was somewhere behind him, between two of his wolves, with her travel case strapped to the side of the second horse. He did not look back. He had made that decision at Greymist Ridge, and he was keeping it.The forest road wa
Greymist Ridge was exactly what the name promised.Grey. Cold.A long stretch of open ground between two tree lines, where neither pack had full advantage. Neutral ground, the Council called it. Lucien called it a place where wolves came to pretend they trusted each other.He arrived with Draven a
The graves had no flowers.Lucien had never put flowers on them. Flowers were for people who still believed in soft things, and six years ago, every soft thing he had was buried right here in Ironmoor's ruins alongside his pack.He stood at the edge of the row, arms at his sides, jaw tight. Twenty-







