Morwenna's POV
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Not after seeing the mark on Leofric’s chest dim again, like a dying star flickering out of reach. He hadn’t said a word since we left the healer’s tent. Just sat by the fire, hands trembling, as if holding his wolf back by the skin of his teeth.
The air was heavy. War drums echoed from the valley below, and our soldiers moved like ghosts—silent, preparing for blood. Liora had returned with a map of the rogue positions, her loyalty proven by the gash across her side she took to bring it to us. I spared her once. Now I’d trust her in battle.
But none of that haunted me as much as the way Leofric looked at me when I offered him my hand and he refused it. As if touching me would burn. As if the mark linking us now brought him pain.
I went to him
