ELISA’S POV
Warmth pressed against my cheek, softer than the stone courtyard but heavy with the scent of herbs and smoke. My eyes fluttered open to a low fire flickering in a narrow hearth. Shelves crowded the small room, crammed with jars of dried leaves and glimmering vials that caught the light like tiny stars.
I was no longer in the courtyard.
A rough wool blanket covered me, scratchy against my skin. Every breath brought the bitter tang of rosemary and something metallic. My stomach still ached, but the stabbing pain had dulled to a slow, deep throb.
“Good. Awake at last.”
The voice came from a hunched figure near the hearth. Wren, the pack’s old healer, shuffled closer, her thin braids streaked white and silver. Her eyes—sharp and oddly bright for someone so old—studied me as if
