Caelan POV:
Night settles over the pack like a held breath.
The grounds are quiet—too quiet for a pack that never truly sleeps—but I feel them all the same, a constant low awareness threading through me. Patrols move along familiar routes with disciplined ease. Wolves curl into doorways and tree lines, bodies loose but senses sharp.
I should be resting. Instead, I stand on the upper balcony of the packhouse, forearms braced against the cool stone rail, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of forest where Elara disappeared yesterday morning. The trees there are dense, the path half-swallowed by shadow now, but I know it by heart. I could trace it blind.
Gone—but not absent. That distinction matters more than I expected it to.
Footsteps sound behind me, measured and unhurried. I don’t turn.
