I didn't expect him to come while I was still changing the bandages.
The house was quiet. My mother had gone to barter for eggs. My father had taken his old boots to the cobbler because he hates to sit idle when I'm hurt. I stood at the washbasin, counting five slow breaths as I eased clean linen across my back. The welts had gone from open fire to steady heat. Every reach, every twist, reminded me what the cell had taken.
A knock came. Not the neighbor's quick tap. Not my father's two-then-one. Three even raps that expected the door to open.
I pulled my shawl forward, crossed the short room, and lifted the latch.
Alpha Zephyr stood on my threshold in a plain storm-colored coat. No guards. No parade. The air still changed around him like it always did.
“Amelia," he said.
“You shouldn
