Aria woke to birds instead of bells.
For a few seconds she couldn’t place what felt wrong. Then she realized: no distant shouts in stone corridors, no clang of weapons in the training yard, no muffled calls for servants. Just the soft crackle of an old house settling and a cautious chirping somewhere in the bare branches outside.
And something else.
She hadn’t woken because of pain.
The bond was still there, tugging faintly south, a splinter under her ribs. But for the first time in days it wasn’t tearing her out of sleep like a siren. It sat there, heavy and sore, but quiet.
Her wolf gave a slow, groggy stretch, then… didn’t bolt upright to sniff for his scent. She just lay there, ears tilted, watchful.
That was new.
Aria stared at the rough beams overhead and let herself feel it:
