Two weeks had a specific quality that she hadn't anticipated.
Not urgency. Not anxiety. The specific texture of something large that was very close — close enough that she could feel its gravity, the way you felt the weight of a significant surgery in the hours before it began. Not dread. The opposite of dread. The readiness that arrived when everything that could be prepared had been prepared and all that remained was the arriving.
She was ready.
Davan was ready.
She could feel it in the bond's frequency — the small golden warmth that had been there since twenty weeks was different now. Less like listening, more like waiting. A person sitting at a threshold.
*She's ready too,* Solène said, on a Wednesday morning.
*You can feel that?* Nara said.
*Her wolf knows,* Solène said. *She's
