Claimed by the Wolf King of Another World
I leaned the kind of lean that says I’m not leaning and caught a slice of hall: torches-that-weren’t, two guards in leather worked with metal, something gray and low skimming ankles that I refused to identify because my brain had a cap on new animal facts.
Kaia returned, rolled her kit with ritual neatness, and set folded linen on the bed. “For now. I’ll try for better.”
“Thank you.”
Silence ear-candled the room. Trust anchored on a single thread—not in this place, but in Kaia, who looked at me like a person instead of a problem.
“What are they saying?” I asked, stirring soup with a teaspoon of nerve.
“They say you’re human.”
“I am,” I said, like a prayer that wasn’t sure about its altar.
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