[Araya's POV]
Morning light filters through the cabin windows, pale and cold. Araya wakes to the sound of voices outside, low and urgent. Her body still aches from her wounds, but the sharp pain has dulled to a persistent throb.
She pushes herself up carefully, wincing as the bandages pull tight. The fire has burned low again, just glowing embers casting faint light through the cabin.
Ronan is gone. His chair by the hearth sits empty.
The voices outside grow louder. Araya can make out words now.
"She's still alive?"
"Barely. The rogues did a number on her."
"And Ronan brought her here? To the den?"
"Apparently."
"That's not like him. He never brings strays home."
Araya's chest tightens. Stray. That's what she is now. A stray wolf, packless and unwanted.
The door opens suddenly,
