Ryker did not sleep. He lay on his back staring at the wooden beams above him while the moon completed its slow descent across the sky. The bond between him and Mira pulsed faintly, unsettled and strained after their conversation on the ridge.
He felt her fear, he felt her distance, and he also felt the terrifying clarity of her resolve, that she was considering rejection, the realization coiled tight inside his chest.
At dawn, he rose and dressed without summoning attendants. He left the packhouse before most wolves stirred and made his way toward the oldest structure in Silverfang territory, a stone chamber half-hidden behind climbing ivy and time.
The Hall of Records had not been entered in years except by elders, he pushed the heavy door open, and dust rose in faint spirals as early
