Aria's POV
Peter tried to comfort me, his voice soft, steady and careful.
But I just shook my head.
My throat felt too tight to speak. My wolf's ears were pinned flat, every instinct inside me taut like a stretched bowstring.
My fingers tightened around the paper until my knuckles turned white. The contract crinkled beneath my grip.
I dragged in a slow breath and forced my hands to loosen. Then, with deliberate calm, I placed the document back on the edge of the bed where I'd found it.
"Let's eat before it gets cold," I murmured, though my voice barely made it past my lips. Even to my own ears, it sounded like thin, fading and insubstantial smoke.
I turned toward the door. My steps wobbled, but I didn't stop.
---
Dinner was… unbearable.
It was nothing like the quiet comfort we us
