On day twenty-two, Silverfang started watching them differently.
Not obviously. This was a pack of wolves who had been trained in discretion and operated with the specific professional awareness of people who noticed everything and commented on very little. But Mira had spent eighteen years learning to read rooms, and she could feel the shift — the way conversations paused fractionally when she and Damien entered the same space, the way heads turned when they crossed the yard together, the way Marta put two cups of tea outside Mira's door instead of one on the morning after Damien had stayed on the roof talking until midnight.
She said nothing about it.
Neither did he.
But she caught Rena watching with barely concealed delight at breakfast on day twenty-two and gave her a look that com
