(Kaelen)
The sun hasn’t burned off the morning chill yet when Theron finds me in the training yard, watching a pair of young wolves spar. I’m not really seeing them. My mind is still stuck on the weight of his hand at breakfast, the way the whole pack pretended not to notice while every single one of them catalogued it.
He stops a few feet away. No greeting. Just, “Come with me.”
I wipe my palms on my pants. “Where?”
“You’ll see.” His voice is low, almost rough around the edges, like he hasn’t used it much since yesterday. He’s in a black shirt, sleeves pushed up, the kind of simple that looks expensive on him. There’s a faint scar I hadn’t noticed before cutting across the inside of his left forearm. Old. Deep.
I expect guards. An escort. Some show of power. Instead he just turns and
