Eli
The tether itches around my wrist like a brand. Ronan’s final word, tied in leather and iron, tethering me like I’m some half-trained pup. Hazel keeps sneaking glances at it as we move through the frost-stiff grass, but she’s smart enough not to say anything.
The whistle hangs at my chest, small and silver, catching the first slant of dawn. I’d sooner bite through my tongue than use it.
Above us, in the black skeleton of the pines, I catch a flicker of motion. Jace. Silent, sharp-eyed, moving along the treeline with us. Ronan’s third condition. My leash in the shadows.
Hazel tugs her cloak tighter, breath puffing in the cold. “You’re grinding your teeth.”
“Am I?” I don’t bother denying it. My jaw aches from it. “Maybe because I’m walking into danger with Ronan’s paranoia strung a
