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He turned his head just slightly—and stilled.

Seren slipped in, quiet as breath. She carried a wooden tray, steam curling up from a bowl of soup, rich with venison and herbs. Crusty bread, still warm, sat beside a small dish of pickled beets—his favourite.

She stopped for a moment just to look around before she set the tray gently on the small table beside the bed and then sat beside him. Her movements were unhurried as she gazed down at him, her eyes full of understanding. Then, she slowly reached out and tenderly cupped his cheek.

The warmth of her hand was like a safe haven.

Hagan blinked up at her, surprise rippling across his face like he couldn't quite believe the tenderness was real. For the first time since things went to hell, she had touched him without hesitation. Without being coaxed. It felt like the impenetrable wall of despair that had encased him since his father's death was crumbling.

His hand came up reflexively, gently covering hers. "You don't have to..."

"I want to," she said, softly.

He exhaled shakily, his eyes closing for a beat. Then, after a pause, he said, "He used to carry me on his back. When I was little and too proud to admit I couldn't keep up."

Seren didn't interrupt. She just listened.

"Mom is amazing. But dad...all I wanted was just to be like him, make him proud, you know? Every time someone said I looked just like him, I could practically feel my head swell up with pride... I idolized him. Until I didn't." Hagan laughed softly, bitterly. "When I became a teenager, I fought him on everything. Every order, every expectation. Most of the time, it was about Lia. We barely spoke some days. Now I know he was right all along. I thought... I thought I had more time to fix things."

Seren's thumb brushed over his cheekbone. "He knew you loved him. He never doubted that."

"I don't know." He looked away, voice rough. "I should've been here. I should've stopped him."

"You couldn't have known." Her voice cracked slightly. "He was already gone when the help arrived. He went to the border in the middle of the night. Astrid warned him but he didn't listen."

Hagan clenched his jaw.

"The tribe heard his cry," she said. "It echoed through the tribelink. But by the time they got there..."

She didn't finish.

"I know," he said. "Garrik saw the aftermath. Forsaken everywhere. Their eyes... he said they looked empty. Blank. Like puppets. They didn't smell like wolves. Even he was shaken. Garrik is never afraid."

She nodded; expression grim.

Hagan continued "No fear. No hesitation. Like they were being controlled. And they went straight for the leadership—Dad, and then Jorik. They didn't waste time on anyone else."

Hagan's brows furrowed. "This was not random. Someone sent them. This was planned. Why was Dad there? Who led him there, on his own?"

There was a moment of silence, each of them lost in their thoughts.

"The Oracle went to the site today after the funeral." Seren said" She wants to speak with us. She found something. She wouldn't say what, not over the link. But it sounded urgent."

He finally sat up, his shoulder brushing hers. "Do you trust her?"

"I know that she's scared," Seren replied, looking at him. "And that scares me."

They sat in silence for a moment, the soup cooling slowly on the tray beside them. Then Hagan reached for her hand again—not with urgency, not with the fire of want—but with quiet need.

"Would you stay with me tonight?" he asked.

Seren leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "I'm already here."

The steam had begun to fade from the bowl, the rich broth now just a thin shimmer across the surface. Seren sat up again and gave him a look.

"You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he muttered.