Chapter 65
The morning after the ledger burned, the compound felt lighter and sorrier at the same time—like a place that had been bared and scrubbed, but the scars still showed. People moved with purpose, but there was a new kind of exhaustion wrapped into their gait. Victory tasted like ash; it fixed nothing overnight. Names were known now, but names meant reprisals, investigations, and the ugly spill of trust that would take longer to stitch. Dastien walked like someone who’d had very little sleep and too much responsibility, the lines around his eyes deeper, the gold in them colder. He gave orders at the briefing like commands were medicine: practical, brisk, and delivered without the softening that gave comfort. The pack needed it. The pack needed him. I needed him too, though it felt like an in
- Writer
