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Hagan blinked.

"Really?"

She nodded.

"He had another love, once. Before me. Someone who... hurt him. Betrayed the tribe."

"But you and Dad—"

"Weren't always in love," she finished. "It started almost like an arrangement. I was chosen. I had the sight. I was a good match. But love... that came later. Now?"

She smiled faintly.

"He'd burn the world down for me."

Hagan stared at the ceiling. His chest still ached, but a different kind of ache now.

"Lia is a nice girl, Hagan," Astrid said gently. "But you're young. You don't owe your whole life to someone just because you care about their pain."

She turned to him, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"Don't make decisions in haste, and don't live in 'what ifs'. You'll never be free if you do."

He nodded, just once.

She reached out, pulling him gently against her chest, holding him like she had when he'd scraped his knees or had nightmares.

And for a moment—

Just a moment—

He felt like her little boy again.

Her fingers stroked his hair, her other hand curved around his back.

She said nothing more.

Just held him.

And though she pretended not to notice, she felt the way his chest hitched.

She felt his tears.

And didn't say a word.

Chapter 31

The tribe run had become one of her favourite times of month, though she never joined them.

Seren preferred to sit by the loft window, knees drawn up under her chin, camera forgotten in her lap, watching as the wolves disappeared into the trees in a blur of limbs and fur and joy.

From her perch, she could always pick them out—

Veyr, sleek and silver-grey, almost silent as he moved.

And Hagan, broader, unmistakable, his coat deep brown like forest bark soaked in rain.

She never missed the Oracle, either—her moon-pale form often the last to lope into the clearing, sending the juveniles off with a huff and a sharp snap of her jaws.