Page 29

Seren

The first few days after the injury were filled with stillness and silence — but not peace.

Seren had been confined to the Oracle's cottage, her arm in a sling and a warning in her chest:

Don't show them how fast you're healing.

She was supposed to rest for six weeks. But the pain had faded after only five days, the swelling gone, the bone knitted clean and strong.

Another two, and she had full mobility. It wasn't natural.

It was her gift—the quiet, coiled energy that had always pulsed under her skin, growing more insistent, more awake, since she arrived in this place.

She'd kept it secret for as long as she could.

But when she caught herself unconsciously using her healing arm to brush back her hair — right in front of the Oracle —

She knew there was no choice. And the Oracle was the only one she trusted. So she told her.

About the pain vanishing too fast.

About the strength returning too soon.

The Oracle hadn't seemed surprised.

She'd simply looked at her, warm eyes thoughtful, and said, "We'll keep it between us. I'll handle the healers."

No fuss. No judgment. Just calm acceptance, as if she had expected it all along. And so — the sling remained, a quiet disguise.

A part Seren played.

And only the Oracle knew the truth .

Her friends had started video calling. Her mother needed help setting it up and Talis was very clever. Talis and Niva had called her every day after her injury. Seren had protected her mother and brother from the truth but her friends knew what had happened.

Niva's dark brows had knit in fury when Seren recounted the fight.

Talis had gone pale.

"He broke your arm? “he whispered." The Alphason? What kind of animals—"

"They are wolves, remember?" Seren had said wryly." Besides I don't think he wanted it to happen."

That earned her a glare and a "Don't make jokes when I'm furious on your behalf."

Talis had softened after that. He'd confessed to something quietly.

He had made her a website. A gallery for her photographs.

A place to display what she saw through her lens, the world as she captured it.

"It's the least I could do," he'd said, his eyes flickering with emotion. "After everything you've done. For me. For all of us."

She had smiled—genuine, but brief.

She tried not to see the sadness in his expression. Or the devotion.

There was no hope for that. Everything had a price.

She moved through the forest now without fear. It was her own backyard now, her playground where she met her closest friends .

The trees whispered their secrets to her, their bending towards her like she was their sun. The animals followed her.

The swallow, the red squirrel, the magpies that had nested near her window. The small brown mice that ran across the path ahead of her like curious scouts.

They spoke to her in their sweet, strange language, and she understood.

She could coax them to pose, curling around branches or sitting still on moss-covered rocks as she raised her camera and captured their essence—fleeting moments of trust, wildness, and grace.

And then there was the grey wolf.

He had appeared shortly after she returned from the healer's building, just outside the conservatory, never too close, never gone for long.

At first, she had been wary.

But then she realized — it was always the same wolf.

Slim and juvenile...almost an adult.

Blue eyes cool, intelligent, curious.

Veyr.

She didn't know how she knew.

She just did.

He had been there when she opened her eyes in the healer's building .

He had followed her on her walks, never speaking, just watching.

And somehow — she wasn't afraid of him.

What she didn't know—

Was that a second shadow trailed her movements from afar.

A larger wolf.

Fur a shade of aged mahogany. Silent. Still.

Watching her through the glass of the attic window at night when she read by the light of the moon.

Tracking her from a distance when she wandered too deep into the woods.

He never got close.

But he never strayed far.

That afternoon, she perched on a branch, her legs swinging freely, camera slung over one shoulder.

Below her, a magpie tilted its head inquisitively on a stump. A red squirrel flicked its tail, posing with practised grace.

She'd known the grey wolf was following.

He always was.

She didn't turn her head, but she could feel his eyes.

She lowered her camera and said aloud—

"I know you're there. "

Silence.

"Stop following me."

Still no answer.

She looked over her shoulder.

He stood a few paces away between the trees, the light catching in his icy blue eyes.

Watching. Unmoving. Unapologetic.

She huffed.

Turned back toward the forest.

"Fine."

And kept taking pictures.

Hagan

Hagan had been trying not to think about it.

But it was impossible.

The memory kept coming back, unbidden.

Every time he touched her, during that fight —

Her wrist, her waist, the bare skin of her forearm —

It felt like a spark jumping from her into him.

Not just heat.

Power.

As though something inside her surged through him, sharpening his instincts, flooding his limbs with strength, breath with clarity .

Each time he grappled with her, he felt faster, stronger, more alive than he had ever felt before.

And then—

She was gone.

Carried off in Garrik's arms.

Her blood still fresh on the training mat.

And that surge he'd felt?

It faded.

Slowly.

Like a fire losing air.

Now, only emptiness remained.