The rain saves Blackthorne.
And condemns someone else.
Morning breaks beneath a clean gray sky, the kind of soft light that follows a true storm. Water beads along the stone like silver threads. Barrels overflow. Cracked cisterns sing with new life. Children run barefoot through puddles with laughter that sounds fragile, as if it might shatter if celebrated too loudly.
For the first time in days, people drink without counting each swallow.
For the first time in days, the wolves eat.
Kael watches it all from the western wall, shoulders finally easing as his pack settles into the wet earth beyond the trees, muzzles dark with rain and meat scavenged from the storm’s mercy.
“You did this,” he murmurs to me.
I shake my head slowly.
“I asked,” I say. “The world answered.”
The shadow cur
