Sable didn't answer Adrian right away, because she had learned the hard way that silence was safer than honesty.
Words could be twisted, repeated, turned into weapons, while silence left fewer edges for people to grab.
Adrian waited anyway.
He stood in her path like he had every right to, but he didn't crowd her, and he didn't touch her. That small restraint mattered more than she wanted it to, because it reminded her how easily the pack could have handled her differently if they'd ever cared to.
"I'm fine," Sable said at last, keeping her tone flat.
Adrian's gaze flicked to her cheek again, and the muscle in his jaw tightened as if he was biting back something sharper. "You're not fine," he replied quietly. "You're alive, and Grimridge acts like that's the same thing."
Sable felt her throat tighten. She didn't let it show.
The wind pushed through the courtyard, cold enough to sting her swollen skin, and the pack grounds were still busy with wolves dispersing after the ceremony. Most of them avoided looking at her now, because the ritual was over, and they'd already gotten what they wanted. The humiliation had been delivered, the lesson had been taught, and Sable was supposed to fade back into the corners where she belonged.
Adrian's presence made that harder.
He looked too composed to be reckless, too controlled to be impulsive, and that meant that whatever he was doing now was a decision, not an accident.
"You shouldn't be talking to me," Sable said, because it was the truth and because she needed him to understand what he was risking if he kept standing here like this.
Adrian gave a small, humorless smile. "And you shouldn't be bleeding on your way back to the quarters, but Grimridge doesn't seem interested in what should happen."
Sable held his gaze, searching his expression for mockery, for cruelty, for the familiar glint of satisfaction that always followed her pain. She didn't find it. Instead she saw something else, something careful and deliberate, like Adrian was choosing each word the way a warrior chose where to strike.
"You're not doing this because you pity me," she said, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. "So why?"
Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in focus. "Because I saw what happened," he answered, still quiet, still measured. "And because I'm tired of watching the pack act like it has the right to destroy someone just because she doesn't fit neatly into a ritual."
Sable's stomach twisted.
Part of her wanted to believe him, because belief was a warm thing, and she had lived so long without warmth that it felt dangerous and addictive. Another part of her stayed hard and suspicious, because hope had always been followed by consequences.
She shifted her bucket in her hands, the metal handle biting into her raw fingers. "I have work," she said, as if work could save her from conversation.
Adrian didn't move out of her way.
Instead, he glanced toward the service corridor and then back at her face. "You're going to go back there," he said, "and they're going to keep doing this to you, because the pack likes easy targets."
Sable's grip tightened. "Then don't give them a reason," she replied, because that was the only advice she had ever been given, and it was the only survival rule she'd ever been allowed to use.
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "Sable," he murmured, his voice low enough that no one else could hear it, "you could spend your entire life being perfect, and they would still choose to hurt you, because you being hurt is what makes them feel clean."
The words struck too close.
Sable's chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, and for a moment she felt the temptation to let herself soften, to let someone else carry even a fraction of the weight she'd been dragging alone for years.
She didn't.
She lifted her chin slightly, defensive instinct flaring. "If you care so much," she said, "go tell them to stop."
Adrian's mouth pressed into a thin line. "If I tell them to stop," he replied, "they'll do it harder when no one's watching."
Sable hated that he was right.
She hated even more that he sounded like someone who had thought about it, someone who understood how cruelty worked in a pack that pretended it was tradition.
Adrian finally stepped to the side, giving her enough space to pass, but he walked with her instead of letting the moment end. The gesture wasn't possessive, not yet, but it was noticeable, and Sable could feel the eyes that turned toward them even as wolves tried to pretend they weren't watching.
"You're making it worse for me," she muttered.
Adrian's voice stayed calm. "They already hate you," he said. "At least let them hate you while you're not alone."
Sable's stomach tightened again, because being alone was the one thing she understood, the one thing she could predict. Being seen beside someone like Adrian was new, and new things always demanded a price.
They reached the edge of the service quarters.
The building was smaller than the others, set back behind the kitchens and the storage sheds, close enough to be useful and far enough to be forgotten. The windows were narrow, the stone older, the air around it always colder because it never held heat for long.
Adrian stopped beside the door, his gaze moving over the building as if he was seeing it for the first time, and something in his expression tightened.
"This is where they keep you," he said softly.
Sable's shoulders stiffened. "It's a roof," she replied. "That's more than some packs would offer."
Adrian looked back at her. "It's not enough."
Sable almost laughed, but the sound would have come out too bitter. "Nothing will ever be enough," she said, because that was the truth she had built her life on.
Adrian hesitated, then reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small cloth, clean and neatly folded, and held it out to her.
"Here," he said. "For your cheek."
Sable stared at it as if it were a trap.
It probably was, in some way. Everything in Grimridge was.
"I don't need it," she said automatically, even though her cheek throbbed with every heartbeat.
Adrian didn't withdraw his hand. He simply waited, steady and patient, and the patience itself felt strange because it wasn't something anyone had ever wasted on her.
"You can take it," he said. "No one will die from a scentless girl holding a clean cloth."
Sable's fingers tightened around the bucket handle. The metal dug into her skin, reminding her of what she was, what she wasn't supposed to accept, what she wasn't supposed to want.
Then she reached out and took the cloth.
Her fingertips brushed his for a fraction of a second, and Adrian's hand was warm, solid, like a normal life she didn't understand.
"Thank you," she forced out, because she was still capable of manners even when she didn't trust the world.
Adrian's gaze softened faintly, and the shift was so small she almost missed it. "You don't have to thank me," he said, and then he paused, as if deciding how far he could go. "But you should listen to me."
Sable's stomach tightened again. "About what?"
Adrian leaned closer, still not touching her, but lowering his voice so the words stayed between them. "The elders are watching you more closely now," he murmured. "The ceremony didn't just confirm what they already believed. It made you a reminder, and reminders make wolves uneasy."
Sable swallowed. "They've always watched me."
Adrian's gaze flicked briefly past her shoulder, toward the main grounds where the Hall stood, then returned to her. "Not like this," he said. "Not when the Alpha is… paying attention."
Sable's pulse jumped, and she hated herself for reacting again.
She had felt Cassian in the Hall like a storm held back by restraint, and she had felt him behind her while she scrubbed the Binding Draft from the stone. He hadn't touched her. He hadn't spoken much. He hadn't done anything that could be called protection.
But he had been there.
And Cassian being there meant something, even if she didn't know what.
Sable forced her expression back into control. "Cassian doesn't care what happens to me," she said, even though the words tasted wrong.
Adrian's mouth tightened. "Maybe," he replied, and there was something unreadable in the way he said it. "Or maybe you don't understand what it means when the Alpha looks at something the pack has already decided is worthless."
Sable's throat tightened again.
She didn't want to understand it. Understanding it would give it weight, and weight would turn into hope, and hope was the one thing she couldn't afford.
Adrian stepped back slightly, giving her space again, but his eyes stayed on her face like he was memorizing the damage. "Be careful tonight," he said. "And if someone comes looking for you, don't open the door."
Sable stared at him. "Why would anyone come looking for me?"
Adrian's gaze sharpened, and for the first time his calm cracked enough to show something darker beneath it. "Because wolves like that don't hit once," he said. "They hit until you stop getting up."
Sable's chest tightened, anger flaring hot beneath her ribs, because she was tired of living like prey.
She lifted her chin. "Then they'll have to hit harder," she said, voice low and steady, "because I'm still standing."
Adrian held her gaze for a long moment, and then, slowly, his expression shifted into something almost approving.
"That," he murmured, "is exactly why I'm here."
He turned away before she could ask what he meant, walking back toward the pack grounds with the same composed stride he'd arrived with, as if he'd never been in danger of being seen offering kindness to the wrong person.
Sable watched him go, the clean cloth still clenched in her hand, the sting on her cheek still sharp.
She shut the door behind her and leaned her forehead against the wood for a moment, breathing through the ache in her chest.
Being alone had always been her protection.
Now she wasn't sure it was enough.
Because somewhere out there, the Alpha of Grimridge had watched her kneel in a sacred circle and fail in front of everyone, and he had stayed silent.
Sable didn't know what Cassian's silence meant.
But she knew it didn't feel harmless.