Elara POV:
I spend the afternoon doing things that look ordinary to anyone watching.
I sharpen blades that don’t strictly need sharpening, the steady scrape of stone against steel giving my hands something repetitive and precise to focus on as the sun drifts past its highest point. I rewind the leather wraps around my hands, loosening them, re-tightening them, adjusting until the tension feels right—then wrong—then right again. I reorganise the small shelf in my quarters where spare clothes and gear sit folded. Not packing, not preparing to leave. Just making sure everything is where I expect it to be.
Control, in small, manageable pieces.
My wolf watches quietly beneath my skin. She isn’t restless exactly, but she’s alert in a way that keeps me from fully relaxing. It isn’t fear that
