GageI brought her in through the back entrance because the front hall has too many eyes and too many mouths. Mason met me at the threshold, jaw tight, nose flaring at the blood on my hands and the silver tang on Mara’s skin.“She’s hurt,” I said.“I can see that,” Mason snapped, then caught himself. “Alpha. Wren’s ready.”Wren didn’t waste time on greetings. The medical room lights were bright and cruel, the kind that make everything look worse. Mara sat on the edge of the exam table, sleeve pushed up, forearm mottled red where the silver had kissed her. She was pale, angry, and trying not to show either. That stubbornness might keep her alive.Wren pressed gauze to the cut and Mara hissed through her teeth. “Ow.”“It’s silver,” Wren said, matter-of-fact, like she was explaining a splinter. Then she paused—just a fraction too long—and her eyes narrowed at the angry red blooming under the wrap. “It’s supposed to hurt.”Mara’s glare snapped to me like I’d personally dipped the blade. I
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