Chance
He didn’t sleep the night he decided.
The guard barracks smelled like oil and leather and damp wool. The air was thick with the quiet breathing of men who trusted walls to keep danger out. Chance lay on his back staring at the ceiling beams and felt none of that trust.
Inside the territory, the bond pressed against him like something wrapped in cloth. Present. Constrained. Muffled.
He closed his eyes and tried to feel her clearly.
Nothing answered.
Not warmth.
Not clarity.
Just distance.
Rook’s presence was steady but unsatisfied.
You are hesitating.
“I am thinking,” Chance replied silently.
Careful steps save lives.
“Yes.”
But careful steps also created space. And space, he was beginning to understand, had weight.
By morning he had decided to find Rowan and make the
