LOGINIrene's POV
Being bedridden was its own kind of torture.
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Irene's POVOn the sixth day, I could sit up without the world spinning.Small victory. But I'd take it.My wolf was back too. Not fully—she still felt sluggish, like she was wading through mud—but present. Real. The glass wall between us had finally shattered.
Irene's POVBeing bedridden was its own kind of torture.Three days. Three days of staring at the same canvas ceiling. The same wooden beams. The same crack in the corner that looked vaguely like a rabbit if I squinted hard enough.The healer visited twice daily to check my progress. The poison was leaving my system, she said. Slowly. Stubbornly. Like an unwanted guest who refused
Irene's POVThe healer's tent smelled like blood and panic.Mine, mostly. The blood part, anyway. The panic belonged to everyone else—the healers rushing around, shouting instructions I couldn't follow, their hands moving too fast for my blurred vision to track.Someone cut away my sleeve. The air hit the wound and I hissed through my teeth.
Irene's POVThe venom worked fast.Cold spread through my veins from the wound. My arm had gone numb, blood still streaming down to the stone floor in thick rivulets.I stumbled backward. My legs felt wrong. Unsteady. Like they belonged to someone else entirely.
Irene's POVThe plan fell apart within the first hour.Scouts had said three hundred wolves. They were wrong. The enemy had been hiding reserves in the mountain caves, waiting until our forces committed to the eastern pass.Four hundred. Maybe more. Pouring out of the treeline like ants from a kicked nest.
Irene's POVThe war table looked like a butcher's diagram.Red lines for enemy positions. Blue for ours. Arrows showing attack routes, retreat paths, kill zones. Hours of argument and strategy had produced this—our best chance at survival, sketched out in colored ink on worn paper."It's settled then." Karson's voice cut through the murmur of exhausted commanders. "Main forc







