Waiting was worse than running.
Aria found that out in the first hour after the patrols left.
The yard emptied of armored bodies and sharp scents. The hall filled with a thinner, higher‑pitched tension: the kind carried by those who stayed behind. Wolves who were too young to go. Too old. Or too important in different ways.
Apparently, today, that included her.
Maps covered the central table again. This time, Aria stood at the head of it.
Mara prowled the edges like an irritated aunt, checking that the hearth was hot and the tea kept coming. Two of the older scouts who weren’t on this run lingered nearby, half listening, half pretending not to worry. A couple of teenagers hovered in the doorway, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
“Breathe,” Lena murmured at Aria’s elbow. “I
