Peace didn't come the next morning.
It came three days later, after the bodies were burned, the Hollow was resealed with iron and salt, and the pack stopped looking at me like I was going to shatter.
Rafe was buried under a plain stone, no name, no prayer. The elders argued about it. Draven ended the argument.
"He died stopping it," Draven said. "That's enough."
No one challenged him.
The silver scar on my palm had faded to a faint crescent, visible only in moonlight. But I felt it. Always. Like a pulse under my skin, tied to Draven's heartbeat. The bond was quiet now. Not broken. Healed.
Elias was recovering. He spoke again on the second day. First words: "Thank you." Then he slept for twelve hours straight. Kaia didn't leave his side.
The pack was different too. Warier,
