CADEN
He got there fast.
He'd been on the far side of the conditioning strip running solo drills when the crowd gathered, and he'd read the body language of sixty wolves all orienting toward the same point and moved before he understood why.
He saw the blade on the ground. Saw the wrap. Saw the blood on her cheek and the way she was holding her left arm in close – that specific careful stillness of someone not moving a joint that hurts.
He went to her first. Checked the cheek, the shoulder, the way her arm sat. She pulled back from his hands the moment he reached her, chin up, jaw set.
"I'm fine," she said.
"You're bleeding."
"I know what I am."
He picked the blade wrap off the ground. Crouched over it. Found the cut in under ten seconds because whoever had done it hadn't bothered
