The brass key had grown warm in Wren’s pocket by the time she reached Caelum’s office.
Six days remained before the alliance vote.
She had carried the key since the night she entered the logging archive, although there had been no practical reason to keep it after the door closed behind her. It was an emergency access key belonging to the Alpha, not a private promise or a symbol she had any right to romanticize.
Wren placed it on Caelum’s desk.
“I am returning this.”
Caelum looked at the key before looking at her.
He had removed his council coat, but the final scheduling notice remained open beside his hand. Thursday, nine in the morning. The date had begun appearing everywhere: meeting packets, security notices, supply requests, and the conversations people stopped having when Wren
