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“No,” I said firmly, putting a gentle hand on his small shoulder. “You’re staying here. It’s too dangerous for you out there.”

Dain stared defiantly up at me, chin lifted stubbornly, his eyes fierce in a way that reminded me painfully of Lexa. “She’s myLexi. I’m coming, too.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already pulling the shirt over his head, tugging at the sleeves with small, impatient fingers. Watching his determination, the thought flickered wryly through my mind:“Do humans ever listen?”But I didn’t voice the question aloud. Instead, I sighed softly and rose, offering him my hand.

“Alright,” I muttered reluctantly. “But youhave tostay close. Understand?”

He nodded fiercely, slipping his tiny hand into mine without hesitation.

“Good,” I said softly, squeezing his fingers gently. “Then let’s go find that witch.”

CHAPTER 24

Andros

We rode swiftly, silence broken only by the steady rhythm of horseshoes against the frozen earth and Dain’s occasional chatter. As we crested the final ridge and descended toward the small fishing village, an unease settled over my chest like ice.

This was the village I’d stormed through weeks ago, hunting down the last pathetic heir of the Crescent Moon pack. But now, in daylight, without rage colouring my vision, it felt different. It was no longer just some rundown human settlement; it was where Lexa had built a life. Where she'd hidden herself, carved out something of her own, away from packs and pain.

I saw the thin lines of smoke rising from scattered chimneys, heard the distant call of fishermen hauling in nets along the shore. The scent of salt and fish hung heavy, mingling with the sharp cold air.

Beside me, Dain brightened instantly, waving excitedly ata young woman standing by her small home, three children clinging shyly to her skirt.

“That’s Jena!” he said brightly, almost bouncing in the saddle. “Lexi was friends with her. I played with her kids sometimes!”

The woman began to wave back, offering the child a gentle, weary smile. But her expression froze, smile vanishing swiftly into careful neutrality when she realized exactly whose company Dain was in. Her gaze dropped quickly to the ground, fingers tightening protectively around her children’s shoulders as she ushered them inside.

But Dain was oblivious. Joy bubbled from him, unrestrained, nostalgic as he rambled, pointing eagerly.

“That’s the bakery, right there! Sometimes Lexa got fresh bread from them, and it was so warm, especially in winter—” He paused, breathing quickly, flushed with excitement. “Oh, and there’s a bench we sat on sometimes! And over there—” he gestured to a small, barren field just outside the village “—that's where daffodils grow in spring. Lexi loved them.”

His voice faded slightly as we moved further, his enthusiasm softening as his small body stiffened subtly.

Because we had reached their house.

It was little more than a shack, run-down and shabby, clearly neglected even before my men had stormed through its doors. But now the signs of theft were obvious—broken hinges, splintered wood, belongings tossed carelessly across the frozen ground. My men had left the door hanging open when they’d taken Lexa and the boy, and clearly scavengers had done the rest.

I dismounted slowly, walking closer, boots crunching on frost and splinters. Inside was worse.

Poverty lingered in every corner, the air stale with old ash and dampness. Blankets threadbare and worn, wooden bowlscracked. In the corner, a broken toy carved roughly from driftwood lay abandoned.

This was Lexa’s life—her chosen exile, a refuge from the horrors she’d fled. A prison of her own making, held together by sheer stubborn willpower.

Suddenly, the bond surged again, sharp and clear—her memories, her life flashing before my eyes.The cold, endless struggle. Hunger gnawing her bones, long nights spent awake and frightened, curled protectively around Dain for warmth.

I stumbled slightly, gripping the doorframe as waves of emotion crashed through me.

Dain tugged anxiously at my sleeve, concern in his large, innocent eyes. “Andros? Are you alright?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my expression neutral as I steadied myself. “I’m fine,” I murmured, voice tight. “Show me where Lexa kept the bottles from the witch.”

He nodded, stepping carefully into the shadowed room, guiding me toward the remnants of a small cabinet.

But even as I followed him, images lingered in my mind—Lexa, young and afraid, fighting daily to survive. And I felt it then, sharp and clear as a blade in my chest.

I owed her more than just saving her life.

I owed her a better one.