Still, the tall one—Briggs—kept one eye on Jonas. Not hostile, but curious. Like a dog sniffing at a locked door.
Jonas pretended not to notice. He hunched forward slightly, letting the warmth of the flames wash over his face and hands. His legs ached. His shoulders throbbed. But his belly was full, and the biting wind no longer pierced so deeply.
For the first time in days, he felt… not safe, exactly, but not hunted.
He could breathe.
The tension that had gripped his spine slowly loosened. His wolf was still silent, buried deep behind the veil, but at least it wasn’t snarling anymore.
A voice broke the relative calm—a gravelly one, older, crackling like dry leaves.
"Tell it, Redd," someone called out. "Come on. You promised last night. About the Fire Wars."
Redd—an older rogue with
