The ride back to Kieran's pack was long, the roads stretching endlessly under the cover of night. Emerald barely noticed the sweep of headlights slicing through the darkness; her mind was elsewhere, replaying every word, every look. Alia's smug smile haunted her. Rhiannon's cruel, deliberate tone still rang in her ears. And worse—Rick. The absence of him, the gnawing realization that he hadn't been there at all, kept twisting in her gut.
By the time she stepped through the heavy wooden doors of Kieran's home, the air was cold and thin with the last hours before dawn. Shadows stretched across the stone walls, and the faint smell of smoke lingered from the hearth.
Kieran stood at the map table, sleeves rolled up, his shirt changed but his expression carved from fury. His eyes lifted the moment she entered, sharp and unyielding. His brows furrowed as if her presence unsettled the order he'd forced himself into.
