Celeste POV
The courtyard had become a living map of survival.
Celeste moved through it with practiced ease, tablet tucked under one arm, braid pinned tight against the wind. Families clustered near the outer walls—some with wagons, some with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Wolves of every shade and size waited with quiet patience, exhaustion carved deep into their faces.
No one argued.
No one demanded.
That alone told her how bad it had been.
“Cottage twelve is full,” Celeste called to one of the stewards. “Redirect the Riverbend family to the south row. Keep them near the orchards—two elders, one with a limp.”
The steward nodded and moved quickly.
Celeste crouched to a child’s level, offering a small loaf wrapped in cloth. The girl stared at it as if it might disappear.
