Episode 4
532 Words
Morning came late to the forest.
The sun hesitated at the horizon, casting only a faint amber glow through the cave’s jagged mouth. Shadows clung to the walls like old memories, refusing to fade. Aria stirred beneath the worn blanket Ryder had tossed her the night before, her body aching in quiet pulses.
She lay still, staring up at the stone ceiling. The fire had gone out. A faint chill settled across the room, clinging to her skin like fog. Her limbs were sore—her shoulder throbbed from where the rogue had slammed her down—but pain had become a familiar hum.
What hurt more was the silence inside her.
Where there had once been a bond — a tether of warmth and instinct — there was nothing. No echo. No pull. Just cold.
She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her ribs. The bruising was worse than she thought, deep and spreading. Her wolf stirred faintly beneath her skin, sluggish, wounded.
The bond break had fractured them both.
She heard quiet movement near the far end of the cave. Ryder stood by a low stone shelf, pouring water into a chipped tin cup. His hair was damp, strands curling against the back of his neck, and a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearm. He didn’t look at her right away.
“You lived,” he said flatly.
“Barely.”
He handed her the cup without comment.
She drank, wincing as the cool water hit her dry throat. “Thanks.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t drag you through three miles of mountain to let you die from dehydration.”
Aria wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You didn’t have to drag me at all.”
“No. But I did.”
Silence fell again. Not awkward. Just… tense. As if both were waiting for the other to drop their guard.
“You sleep like a soldier,” she said after a moment.
“You cry like someone who’s still mourning.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not crying anymore.”
“That’s a start.”
She set the cup down and stood slowly, careful not to show how much it hurt. “What now?”
Ryder leaned against the wall. “That depends on what you want.”
She stared at the cave mouth, golden light spilling across the stone floor. “I don’t know what I want.”
“You will.”
He moved past her and tossed a satchel onto a nearby crate. “There’s a stream down the ridge. You’ll need to wash that blood off. There’s extra clothing in there. Nothing ceremonial.”
She looked down at her ruined cloak. It was torn, stained with both rogue blood and her own. The mark of Thorncrest still faintly glowed on the shoulder, mocking her.
She pulled it off and dropped it onto the ground.
Ryder didn’t comment.
She stepped toward the cave’s mouth, clutching the satchel. But before she left, she turned back.
“Why did you really help me?”
Ryder’s gaze locked with hers. “Because you weren’t supposed to survive. And I’m always drawn to the wolves who do.”
- Writer
