Pale gray light crept across the floorboards of the upper loft as the eastern horizon turned a soft rose.
Elena stirred awake, her senses sharp and unclouded. There was no freezing rain against her face, no damp mud soaking through threadbare rags. Beside her, Jaxon remained curled in his blankets, his chest rising and falling in deep, unbroken slumber, clutching his newly carved wooden wolf cub against his chest.
Near the hearth, the bench was already empty.
The wool blanket was neatly folded, and the dying embers had been stoked into a fresh, quiet flame. The faint scent of pine resin and crushed rain lingered in the air, confirming Max had kept watch through the darkest hours of the night.
Elena quietly slipped out of bed, pulled her dark woolen shawl over her shoulders, and stepped
