A week passed in quiet recovery.
Haven slowly pieced itself back together. Buildings were repaired. Defenses were strengthened. The wounded healed, and the grieving began to find ways to live with their loss. Life, stubborn and persistent, continued.
Sasha spent most of that week in meetings.
Council meetings. Planning meetings. Meetings with faction representatives who suddenly wanted to talk now that the Night King was dead. Everyone wanted something from her—alliances, trade agreements, promises of support. She listened to them all, made no commitments, and reported back to her council each evening.
"This is exhausting," she groaned one night, collapsing into a chair. "I'd rather fight another ancient vampire."
"No you wouldn't." Maya was sorting through papers, her witch's mind or
