The wind howled outside the frontier lodge, rattling wooden shutters and kicking snow against the windows.
Inside, Elara sat cross-legged on the floor, sleeves rolled, sorting through a pile of children's drawings. Each sketch was a wolf—some fierce, some silly, all drawn with wide eyes and unsteady hands.
Kael stood nearby, fixing a cracked support beam with a rusted hammer and quiet focus.
“You missed one," Elara said, holding up a drawing of a wolf wearing a crooked crown.
He walked over and took it from her.
“They think I'm still royalty."
“You kind of are."
“I'm an exile."
“You're a builder," she corrected.
He gave her a look. “So are you."
She shrugged. “Difference is, I sign laws. You lift roofs."
“And mend fences. And carry medicine crates. And wrangle frostbitten goats.
