(Steel’s POV)
The camp felt different tonight.
Not tense. Not wild. Just, easy.
A blues band played near the fire pit. The guitar wailed, low and lazy. Shifters lounged around, drinking and laughing. The smell of cooked meat was thick in the air, bottles of rum and bourbon passed around. Even the moon seemed to be in a good mood.
Sitting on a crate, watching them, I thought: maybe this is peace.
I could build something here: stone walls, real foundations. A kingdom worth keeping. Train the best, house the rest, let them live without the constant fear of being hunted.
If the world didn’t burn first. Ragnar was still a problem.
I ran a hand through my hair, half-listening to the blues. The sound reminded me of old wounds that healed wrong but still let you dance.
A few feet away, Ojo
