We didn’t sleep.
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed. Knife in hand again. Not sharpening this time. Just holding it. Staring at the door like he expected someone to kick it down.
I sat against the wall. Knees up. Arms wrapped around them. The blanket was on the floor. I didn’t pick it up.
The voices outside never really stopped.
They started low. Muffled. Then louder. Closer to the cabin.
“She touched him and he breathed.”
“She’s not normal.”
“She saved Tomas.”
“She’s Silverfang.”
“She’s a healer.”
“She’s a witch.”
“She’s dangerous.”
Every word landed like a stone.
Alaric looked at me. “They’re scared.”
“I know.”
“They’re grateful too. Some of them.”
“Not enough.”
He put the knife down. Walked over. Sat beside me on the floor. Back against the wall. Shoulder touching mine.
