I wake to a heaviness pressing against my chest. Pain. Exhaustion. Something else. Something unnameable. My fingers twitch, brushing against the sheets, and I realize my chest still aches where the wolf saved me—where I saved myself—and my breaths are shallow, uneven.
The voice in my head is quiet, but present, pulsing almost like it’s keeping time with my heartbeat.
Blinking against the sunlight streaming in from the small window, I take in the room. Asher is there, leaning against the edge of the bed. He looks… vulnerable. His normally calm, commanding presence is softened by fatigue and faint bruises along his jaw and collarbone. A pang twists in my chest. Relief, yes. And something else I don’t name.
Lucien is standing at the doorway, posture taut and watchful. His eyes flick to me
