AYLA'S POV
The march was slow.
Snow up to the knees, sky low and gray. Each step sounded like a heartbeat muffled by distance. The survivors followed Kael in silence—wolves too tired to mourn, too loyal to rest.
I walked beside him, cloak dragging trails through the drifts. He didn't look at me, not once, but I could feel the strain in the bond like a splinter under skin. Once it had felt like warmth. Now it hummed like a warning.
Ahead, the southern ridge loomed—black stone scorched by old fires, a wound in the earth. That was where Maric had fled, if he was still alive.
Kael raised a hand, signaling halt. "Thorne," he said, voice steady. "Take two scouts, check the slope."
Thorne nodded, disappearing into the fog.
Kael's eyes flicked sideways. "You're too quiet."
I managed a brittle smile. "You wanted quiet."
"I wanted peace," he said. "There's a difference."
The honesty of it startled me. "Then you should've stayed in the palace," I murmured.
