Ronan stopped eating on the third day.
Not because he didn’t need food—but because every bite tasted like something that wasn’t his.
“I can feel them,” he said quietly as we sat near the boundary stones. “The ones who’ve already gone quiet. They’re… settled.”
I hated that word now.
“Are they hurting you?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly. “Not pain. Weight. Like holding memories that never finished forming.”
Ashael hovered nearby, silent, watchful. Kaelith stood farther back, giving us space he clearly didn’t believe we deserved anymore.
The land pulsed faintly beneath us.
Listening.
Always listening.
That was the problem.
“If another pack submits like Willowmere,” Ashael said finally, “Ronan’s internal structure will fracture again. Permanently.”
I turned sharply. “Define per
