The day after the ceremony felt wrong mostly because it didn’t.
The sun still dragged itself over the ridge. The snow still squeaked under boots. Pups still argued about whose turn it was to fetch water.
Nothing in Nightfall announced that, far to the south, vows had been spoken and sealed.
The bond was quieter than Aria expected when she woke. Not silent. Never silent. But the sharp, insistent pressure of yesterday had faded to a sore throb, like a muscle finally relaxing after holding something too heavy too long.
She lay there for a moment, hand over her sternum, waiting for the delayed punch.
It didn’t come.
“Okay,” she whispered to the ceiling. “We survived that one.”
Downstairs, the hall buzzed like any other morning. Mara shoved a bowl into her hands before she had both feet
