Three years passed.
I still woke some nights with the clinic's smoke in my nose and Kael's scream close enough to hear. Then morning reached the white tower, sunlight moved over Silverlight's green valleys, and the sounds of work rose from the courtyards below.
Travelers still brought news from Dark Moon. Fiona had survived less than a week after the pack collapsed. Hunters found what scavengers had left of her in the unprotected wilds.
Kael remained in the ruined fortress, wild-eyed and alone, clutching the strip he had cut from my tunic and apologizing to empty rooms. People in the north called him the Mad Alpha of the Wastes.
I never sent anyone to verify the stories. Dark Moon belonged to the life I had left outside the shattered doors.
The white tower behind me overlooked The San
