"Okay," she whispered to no one. To herself, maybe. "Okay. We're… we're fine."
The cabin was small. Smaller than she'd imagined when she'd first spotted it through the trees. A single room, low ceiling, a narrow window crusted with frost, a stone fireplace squatting against one wall like a tired guardian that hadn't been asked to work in years. It smelled of dust, old smoke, and pine needles crushed under boots long gone. There was a table. One chair with a crooked leg. No bed.
No time to complain.
Verona dropped to her knees beside Elric, ignoring the sting as they hit the cold floor. Her gaze flicked over him with ruthless focus now. His clothes were torn beyond any dignity, shredded where the wolf had been too large, too powerful to care about fabric or seams. His skin was exposed to the cold, pale in a way that twisted something deep in her chest.
"No, no," she muttered, already moving.
