ADRIAN
I stood at the edge of the balcony at the pack house, hands resting on the cold stone railing, staring out at the forest below. Snow clung to the branches like frostbitten memories. The air was sharp. Clean. Honest.
Behind me, the pack house was already awake. Guards moved quietly. Servants prepared breakfast. Elders whispered like vultures circling a slow death.
Sloane was inside.
She’d come back to the pack house with me last night. No complaints. No protests. Calm on the outside.
Too calm.
I could smell her nerves. Sharp. Tight. Like a wire pulled too far.
Fern stirred low in my chest.
She’s steady, he said. But she’s scared.
“I know,” I answered silently.
The arraignment was set for tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
One word. Too heavy.
I turned away from the balcony and went ba
