Diana's POV
Three days passed in a whirlwind of preparation. I spent every spare moment brewing additional treatments, organizing my notes, and instructing Mira on Damian's routines. Each night, I held my son a little longer before bed, kissed his forehead an extra time, promised I wouldn't be gone long.
The morning I was set to leave, Damian clung to me at the door, his small face crumpled with worry.
"Why can't I come with you?" he asked for the hundredth time. "I could help. I know all the herbs now."
I knelt to his level, smoothing his dark hair away from his forehead. "It's too dangerous, baby. There are very sick wolves where I'm going."
"But you're going," he pointed out with the irrefutable logic of a child.
"Because I have to." I cupped his cheek gently. "Sometimes grown-ups
