Amara’s POV
Blackthorn feels different now. Conversations soften when I pass, warriors pause their sparring just long enough to watch me move through the yard. No one challenges me outright, but no one looks away either.
The rogue attack changed everything.
I keep my head down, my pace steady, my hands busy. Routine is safe. If I can convince them and myself that I am still just another wolf clinging to protection, maybe the silence will loosen its grip.
It doesn’t.
“Amara.”
Elior’s voice cuts cleanly through the noise of the training grounds.
I stop instantly.
He approaches without urgency, dark eyes unreadable, posture relaxed in his usual way. He doesn’t dismiss the warriors or signal for privacy, yet the space around us subtly clears anyway.
“You’re being reassigned,” he says.
