(Steel’s POV)
The camp was quieter now. Too quiet.
The music had stopped, and Ragnar’s echo had finally faded, but the silence left behind had weight. The kind that made a man start thinking too much.
I sat on a crate outside my tent, watching smoke curl into the night. The shifters were restless, pretending they hadn’t been dancing like the damned under Ragnar’s spell.
We needed something new. Something solid.
Roots.
I’d been thinking about it for days, about putting down stone, not just dirt. A place that would last longer than the next fight. A real kingdom.
When Asher found me, she didn’t even have to ask what was on my mind. “You’re thinking again,” she said, handing me a beer.
“I’m always thinking.”
“That’s the problem.” She sat beside me, shoulder warm against mine.
“Ragna
