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Seren

It was the third night in the healer's cottage.

The world outside had slipped into darkness, the trees casting long shadows across the pale walls of her room. The stillness was deeper now, more aware - as if the forest itself was beckoning.

Seren sat on the narrow bed, her legs tucked beneath her, the blanket bunched at her waist. In the low candlelight, she examined the fresh scar running the length of her forearm. A thin line of red, healing cleanly from wrist to the crease of her elbow.

It bisected the pale, ghostly remnants of her bonding mark - once vibrant, now faded like forgotten ink. The goddess had spared her life, but not without cost.

The first time she'd awoken and found silence in her mind, she had panicked.

The hum of the wolf bond-the soft, background song she hadn't realized she'd grown used to-was simply gone.

Had the goddess changed her mind?

But by morning, it had returned. Softer, more distant. Blunted.

She was still Lunara, the healers said, affectionately calling her little moonlight as they marvelled at how she lived. She should have died. The blood she lost should've claimed her. But her healing gift had held fast.

She nodded politely. Said little. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

The plan was already set.

Hagan would be back soon. She could feel the tension of his presence every time he approached, even before the door creaked. She wasn't ready for him again. Not tonight.

Only one person had managed to reach her.

Veyr.

He'd visited earlier, stepping into the candlelit room like a silent sentinel. He stood at her window with his arms folded and a rare crease between his brows.

"Why did you do it?" he had asked, his voice low.

Seren's answer had been simple, her voice brittle.

"Because I had no choice."

Now, as the stars wheeled over the forest, Veyr waited - this time outside the window. He didn't speak when she opened the shutters. Didn't question it when she jumped from the first floor, cloak gathered around her like wings.

He caught her effortlessly.

Their hands touched. And Seren knew instantly - no spark. No pull. No breathless ache.

It was like touching a brother.

She suspected Veyr felt the same.

Which was a shame, really.

He was striking in the way carved stone could be-cobalt eyes, black hair, tall and broad. A warrior to the bone. But his touch did nothing for her. Unlike...

They walked through the edge of the forest in silence, moonlight threading through the branches. Ahead, the dark curve of the woods opened to a familiar grove.

Her things were waiting.

A hollowed tree trunk cradled her pack-camera, laptop, phone-all untouched, protected by her forest companions. A red squirrel chirped sleepily as she pulled the flap shut, a vole sniffed her boot before scampering away. A robin rustled on a low branch above.

Veyr's voice was quiet beside her. "You talk to them, don't you?"