By dawn, the estate was heavy with silence.
No chatter in the halls. No sparring in the yard. The wolves moved like shadows, glances sharp and fleeting, their conversations dropping to whispers when I passed.
The Cradle hadn’t stayed behind. It had come home with us.
At the long table, Mira sat rigid, eyes fixed on her hands. Elid muttered half-prayers over his cup, words spilling faster when I entered. And Kalen—Kalen didn’t bother to hide the way he watched me, like a wolf eyeing a wounded deer.
Thorn felt it too. His presence at my side was iron, but even his command couldn’t erase the crackle of unease that filled the air.
His requests for reports were met with hesitant, clipped responses. Scouts described wolves with crescent scars etched into their flesh and shadows moving beyon
