The sun was rising by the time I stepped past the gates.
The fortress didn’t welcome me. It loomed. Cold. Quiet. The guards didn’t stop me, though their eyes lingered too long. Maybe I looked wild. I still felt like it. My shirt was torn at the shoulder, my boots covered in dirt, my entire body sore like I’d been thrown through stone.
But the worst ache was in my chest.
Not from the shift. Not from the magic.
From leaving him.
I reached the threshold of Ryvarn’s chamber and hesitated.
There was a scorch mark still seared into the ground nearby—where the chains had grabbed him. Where the magic had punished him for trying to follow me. I knelt for a moment and placed my hand over the burn.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure who I was saying it to.
Then I stood and opened
