The cold words felt like a physical blow, instantly souring the victory in my chest. The reminder of how the pack viewed magic—as a dark, volatile threat—wrapped a suffocating tight grip around my ribs.
Before the silence could stretch any further, Carlos stepped up to my side. He had slipped away toward the edge of the market stalls while the guards were securing the perimeter, and when he returned, he was holding a simple, clean dress that still had a merchant's paper tag dangling from the sleeve.
He respectfully held it out to cover me, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering sincerity that cut right through the tension in the meadow.
"Rachel," Carlos said softly, his voice drawing my attention away from the fearful crowd as I took the fabric. He looked down at the rogue he had kille
