Seraphine's POV
Exactly one week had passed. The healer finally released me with a grumble: “If you pick that bandage again, I’ll strap it on myself.” The noose mark on my neck was gone, and my shoulder only twinged when I stretched too far. The white wolf inside me was quiet, but awake, as if waiting.
Darius stood at the edge of the inner courtyard in simple clothes, without his sword—a rare sight. The sun was low, that short window of coolness before the heat.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I rolled my shoulder. “I won’t fall apart.”
“That’s not the point,” he said. “Not a race. Just a run. The two of us. If I signal, we slow. If you signal, we stop. If the wolf says ‘enough,’ we shift back. Deal?”
“Deal.” I smirked. “And if I signal ‘race’?”
“Then I’ll convincingly lose,” he said with
