SCARLET’S POV
I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Every part of me screamed to stop. I did it anyway, because lying on the floor of the dining hall while an entire pack watched and talked over me like I wasn't there was a habit I'd promised myself, more than once lately, I was done keeping.
"I feel fine," I said. My voice came out cracked and unconvincing, which was unfortunate, because it happened to be true.
Roman's eyes found mine like he needed to check I was really the one speaking. This close, in front of everyone, his composure had cracked clean down the middle — the founder-of-the-pack blankness gone, replaced by something raw enough it hurt worse than the wound had.
"You were dying," he said. Flat. Furious. Not at me. At the world, maybe, or at himself, or at whatever math was
