The night did not settle after the execution. It held its breath. The pack house had quieted, but the tension remained in the walls like a storm that had not yet decided whether to break or pass. Ava stood on the outer balcony overlooking the training fields. Sleep had not come. Not after what she had witnessed. The image returned again and again. Cassian’s blade. The final strike. Not cruel. Not hesitant. Decisive. It had not frightened her. That realization unsettled her more than the execution itself. “You watch the wolves,” a voice said behind her. Ava didn’t turn immediately. She had already recognized the voice. Draven. “You move quietly,” she said. “I move intentionally.” That sounded exactly like him. Ava turned slowly. He stood a few steps away, leaning lightly against one of the stone pillars that supported the balcony roof. No guards. No riders. No witnesses. Just observation. “You shouldn’t be inside the pack house,” she said. Draven’s expressio
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