The camp did not sleep.
Fires burned low, ringed by silent wolves who stared into embers as if waiting for them to speak. The air was heavy with ash and judgment, with grief that had nowhere to go.
Glosh stood apart from them all.
She had washed the blood from her hands twice, but she could still feel it—sticky, warm, clinging beneath her skin. Lyr’s face refused to leave her mind. Not screaming. Not pleading.
Just disappointed.
Behind her, boots crunched softly against dirt.
“You’re avoiding them,” Kael said.
She didn’t turn. “I’m giving them space.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She exhaled slowly. “They need a queen, not a woman unraveling in front of them.”
Kael stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the tension rolling off him. “They need to know you’re still listen
