Lachlan sat on the wooden bench outside the cabin, his elbows braced on his knees, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. He wasn't shivering. Wasn't speaking. Just… breathing. Measured and deliberate.
Sera watched him through the half-cracked door.
He was still in the clothes from last night, blood dried at the edge of his lip, and his jaw worked in slow circles like he was testing it. No more serrated teeth. No visible blue veins even though his skin had taken on a blueish undertone to it. But he hadn't said more than two words since she'd helped him back inside.
And she hadn't pushed.
Inside, Noah was still asleep—miraculously, despite the horde, the open door, and the sound of her snarling in the night. That kid could sleep through a war.
