The morning after the sparring accident hung heavy with silence. Ariana woke in her chambers with Kael’s blood still haunting her hands, though she had scrubbed them raw the night before. He had brushed off the wound—“It’s nothing,” he’d growled—but the truth was burned into her memory. Her power had lashed out of her control, a flash of silver light that had cut through his skin like a blade.
No matter how many times she whispered reassurances to herself, the same thought returned like an echo she couldn’t silence. I hurt him.
By noon, word of the incident had already spread through the pack. Whispers followed her down corridors. Warriors glanced at her with wariness. She could feel the shift in the air—curiosity tainted with fear.
It was in that fragile atmosphere that the news came:
