Mira’s POV:
“Silas?” My whisper was barely audible as I shook him, my fingers pressing into his shoulder. *Wake up. Please.*
Then—
Footsteps.
I lunged for the tent flap, peeling it back just enough to see.
Guards.
Patrol shift change. My pulse hammered as I forced a smile and gave them a casual wave. They nodded and moved on.
Too close.
When I turned back, Silas’ breathing had steadied, shallow but regular. A shaky exhale escaped me.
“Thank goodness,” I murmured, stepping closer to the treatment bed.
His eyelids fluttered, fighting the weight of the belladonna’s grip. Then—
“Where… am I?” His voice was rough, his pupils dilated as they struggled to focus.
“My tent,” I said, smoothing the blanket beside him. “The plan worked. The whole pack thinks you’re dead.”
