The question hung like a blade suspended between them, trembling with every fragile heartbeat.
The room felt too still, too quiet. The dim afternoon light filtered through the high windows of the infirmary, casting soft, wavering shafts of gold across the floor. Dust motes drifted in the air like tiny suspended memories. It smelled faintly of herbs and wolf magic—lavender oil, wolfsbane paste, and something older, something sacred.
Elaine stood rooted where she was, one hand pressed against the frame of the door, the other curled tightly at her side as if holding herself together. Across from her, Kathy sat on the small sofa, shoulders hunched, fingers twisting anxiously in the hem of her sweater. Her eyes were red, as if sleep had abandoned her for days.
For a long moment, they simply
