Dorian’s POV
The lodge was quiet when I finally stepped outside.
Too quiet.
The fire in Elara’s room had burned down to embers. She was asleep, truly asleep, not the half-frozen unconsciousness from the border. Her breathing was steady. Her color had returned. Mira was sitting guard by her door, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes.
“She’ll live,” Mira said without looking up.
“I know.”
“Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I just walked.
The night air hit my face like a cold cloth. The moon had shifted westward, painting the village in shades of silver and shadow. Most of the cottages were dark. The pack was asleep, exhausted by the drama of the rejection ceremony.
But one cabin still had a light on.
Kael’s. I didn’t knock. I kicked the door open.
The wood splinte
