Lyra POV
The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in hues of amber and lavender as Jaxon and I left the village behind, our boots crunching on the gravel path. The day had been a whirlwind of activity—tending to the sick, mixing herbal remedies, and listening to the stories of the rogue werewolves who called this place home.
Each smile, each grateful nod, had chipped away at the doubt Fiona had planted, replacing it with a quiet pride in being part of Jaxon’s world, even if just for a day. My hands still smelled of sage and chamomile from helping Eliza’s feverish boy, and my heart felt fuller, buoyed by the warmth of the community Jaxon had built.
But as we walked, his silence was heavy, his gray eyes distant, and I sensed he was leading me somewhere new, somewhere significant.
“Whe
