DAPHNE
One week since the attack.
My ribs don't scream anymore when I breathe—just a dull ache that reminds me to move carefully. The bruises on my throat have faded from deep purple to sickly yellow-green. Mara says I'm healing well. Says I can resume normal activities.
Normal.
I don't know what that means anymore.
Krue hasn't come around all week. Not once. I've seen him at council meetings, at pack dinners, passing in hallways. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't speak beyond what's necessary. His eyes slide past me like I'm not there.
Tonight is his night. The rotation. He has to show up.
I'm standing at the window when I hear the knock.
My stomach twists.
"Come in," I call.
The door opens. Krue steps inside and closes it behind him.
We stare at each other.
The silence stretches t
