Elara POV:
I slow as the forest thins into that familiar clearing just short of the boundary, my shoes brushing over earth, stones crunching softly beneath each step as the air changes in subtle ways that have nothing to do with weather. The markers lie ahead—ancient stones, half-buried and worn smooth by centuries of passing wolves, by rain and frost and time itself. No wall or fence. Just an understanding that has outlasted every attempt to make territory about lines instead of responsibility.
Rourke matches my pace without needing to look at me, his presence at my side as steady as it has always been, the rhythm of his steps familiar enough that I could walk blind and still know exactly where he is.
“You don’t have to hesitate,” he says gently, not urging me forward, not testing my r
