Hazel
The whispers start like wind through dry grass. Soft and almost harmless at first. By the time I catch them, they’ve already spread like wildfire.
I stand in the mess hall, tray balanced in my hands, watching a pair of younger wolves lean too close over their bowls of stew. Their voices are pitched just low enough to sound conspiratorial.
“...he lost control again and attacked Loran without provocation.”
“Ronan had to drag him out, didn’t he?”
“I’ve heard he’s dangerous and he was kicked out of Ashgrave, he didn’t run away. He ought not to be kept near the Alpha. He makes him weak.”
They glance up, see me watching, and instantly look down, spoons clattering against wood in nervous rhythm. I don’t need their confession. I’ve heard enough.
It’s Eli they’re talking about.
Always
