Morning did not soften anything, it only made it real. Elara woke before the sun fully crested the treeline, her body warm — too warm — beneath the linen sheets. The Moon’s influence had faded with dawn, but the bond had not. It lingered under her skin like a low flame, steady and patient. She lay still, staring at the ceiling.The events of the night replayed in fragments — the courtyard, the healing, the way the pack had stepped back instead of forward. The way Rowen had looked at her — not like something fragile. Not like something disposable. Like something dangerous. Her throat tightened. A knock sounded at her door. She stiffened. “Enter,” she called, forcing her voice steady.Eamon stepped inside first — measured, composed — though his eyes flicked over her carefully, as if reassessing what he thought he knew. “Good morning,” he said. Behind him, two omega attendants hovered awkwardly, clearly unsure how to address her now. Elara sat upright in bed. “Is something wrong?” Eamon
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