Caelan POV:
The packhouse comes into view through the trees, stone and timber emerging from the morning mist like something that has always belonged here, something that does not need to announce its strength to be respected. The path beneath our feet is worn smooth by generations of movement, and as Elara slows beside me, I match her pace without thinking.
We don’t touch, we don’t need to.
The awareness between us hums anyway, quiet and steady, a low current beneath the surface that neither of us tries to name. It’s there in the way her presence sits comfortably in my peripheral vision, in the way my senses remain open rather than braced, in the way Vaelor is calm but attentive, watching the world through me without urgency.
As we cross into the heart of the pack, I feel it immediatel
