The morning after their night on the tower, Elias felt lighter, as if Kieran’s words had stitched together the cracks in his chest. But the illusion didn’t last long.
By midday, a patrol returned bloodied and shaken. “Rogues,” one growled, clutching a torn arm. “They knew our paths—our numbers. Too precise to be coincidence.”
The courtyard erupted in chaos. Kieran’s voice cut through it, commanding order, promising swift action. But as Elias stood at his side, he felt the wolves’ eyes burning into him again. Whispers—sharp, accusing—brushed against his ears.
When the meeting dispersed, Kieran caught his wrist before he could slip away. His grip was firm, his eyes searching. “You’ve been carrying something. Don’t deny it.”
Elias’s breath caught. The truth trembled on his tongue, but fea
