The scent of smoke and iron was still present in the corridor outside the council room. Along the marble pillars, wolves had left their fury in claw marks that were so deep that the smell of blood still permeated them. Elaria stood with her hand braced against the hard stone, breathing through the weight of it all as the last shouting echo faded.
Draven stood silently next to her, as the hallway fade into darkness. His throat still had the subtle dark bruises of confinement; his shirt was half-ripped from the fight that almost broke out at the end. But when she faced him, it was evident that his anger was subdued.
“They would have torn each other apart if Kairis hadn’t called the recess,” he said at last.
Elaria nodded, her voice low. “That was the point.”
He tilted his head. “Yours?”
