The morning sun didn't filter through cracks in damp cellar stone. It spilled through massive glass windows, throwing long, warm blocks of amber light across the thick furs of the bed.

Nila hadn't slept. She had spent the entire night curled into a tight ball against the headboard, her eyes tracking the movement of shadows across the ceiling, her ears straining for the sound of approaching footsteps. But the hallway had remained silent. No one had come to drag her out of bed. No one had screamed for her to light the hearths.

She stared down at the silver tray on the bedside table. The bowl of stew was cold now, a thin layer of grease settled over the top, but the three thick slices of bread were still there. Sometime around three in the morning, when the hunger in her gut had turned into a sharp, clawing ache, she had reached out with a trembling hand and taken a single bite of the bread. She had swallowed it quickly, half-expecting a hand to descend on her shoulder as punishment.

When nothing happened, she had cried silently, the salt tears stinging the raw scrape on her cheekbone until she fell into a light, fitful doze.

Now, with the house waking up around her, Nila slid out of the bed. Her bare feet sank into the plush wool rug, the sensation so startlingly soft that she pulled her toes back for a second before forcing herself to stand. She still wore Kaelen’s massive wolf-skin cloak over her torn tunic; she couldn't bring herself to take it off. His scent was the only thing anchoring her to the room.

She walked to the bathroom Vera had pointed out the night before. There was a large porcelain basin filled with clean water that had somehow remained lukewarm. Nila looked into the small silver mirror hanging above the washstand.

She barely recognized the girl looking back. Her dark hair was a bird's nest of tangles, gray soot smeared across her forehead and jaw, and her eyes looked hollow, wide with the permanent vigilance of a beaten animal. She picked up a clean linen cloth, dipped it into the water, and began to scrub at her skin. She worked quickly, methodically, wiping away the grime of the Down Pack until her skin was raw and pink.

When she finished, she looked down at her clothes. The tunic was frayed at the hem, stained with kitchen grease and gray water from Martha’s bucket. She looked around the room, desperately seeking a chore to do. In her mind, existence required payment. If she wasn't working, she was useless. And if she was useless, she would be discarded.

Seeing a pile of scattered firewood near the small hearth in the corner of the bedroom, Nila dropped to her knees. She began to organize the logs, stacking them neatly by size, her fingers scraping against the rough bark.

A soft knock rattled the door.

Nila froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She scrambled back against the wall, her fingers clutching a piece of firewood like a weapon. "C-come in," she whispered.

The door swung open, and Kaelen stepped into the room. He had changed out of his heavy combat armor into a simple black tunic and dark leather trousers, but his presence still filled the space entirely. He carried a fresh tray with a steaming mug of tea and a plate of hot, blueberry-studded pastries.

His golden eyes scanned the room, instantly locating her on the floor in the corner. His gaze dropped to the neatly stacked firewood, then back to her defensive posture. A subtle, painful twitch tightened the corner of his jaw.

"You don't need to clean the hearth, Nila," he said, his voice low and incredibly gentle as he walked over to the low table, setting the tray down. "You don't need to do chores here."

Nila kept her knees pressed to her chest, her knuckles white around the log. "I have to earn my keep. If I don't work, Alpha Richard says I'm just a waste of rations."

Kaelen didn't approach her. He sat down on the edge of the massive bed, dropping his height so he wasn't looming over her. He rested his forearms on his knees, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "Richard is a coward who used your bloodline to build his own throne. You owe this pack nothing. We owe you everything."

Nila shook her head, suffocation pressing down on her lungs. "You don't understand. My mother... she died because of me. The whole pack knows it. They look at me and they see her blood. How can you look at me and see a mate? I’m broken. I don't know how to be a Luna. I don't even know how to shift."

The confession felt shameful, like stripping off her skin in front of him. A wolf who couldn't shift by twenty was practically an omega, an outcast.

Kaelen’s eyes softened, the gold in his irises glowing with warmth. "Your wolf isn't broken, Nila. She’s trapped. Your father spent twenty years poisoning your mind, forcing you to believe you are a monster so you would never try to reach for the power your mother left you. Your wolf is waiting for you to feel safe enough to let her out."

He reached out, his hand open, resting on the mattress between them. "I have all the time in the world. We don't have to fix twenty years of damage in one morning. If you want to sit in this room and stack firewood for a week, I will bring you more logs."

A small, breathless sound escaped Nila’s throat. A tiny laugh that instantly cracked into a sob. She pressed her face into her knees, the tears finally spilling over. For the first time, someone wasn't demanding she be stronger, or quieter, or cleaner. He was just letting her exist.

Kaelen stayed where he was, silently, letting her weep until the frantic tension in her shoulders began to ease.

After several minutes, Nila wiped her face, looking up at him through her damp lashes. The smell of the warm pastries was incredibly distracting. Kaelen noticed her gaze and pushed the tray a fraction of an inch closer.

"Eat," he murmured. "Then, if you feel up to it, I want to show you the gardens behind the lodge. There are no enforcers there. Just the mountains."

Nila hesitated, but the trust she felt humming through the mate bond was too strong to ignore. She nodded softly. She ate a pastry under his watchful, patient gaze, amazed by the sweet burst of fruit, before finally standing up.

Ten minutes later, she walked beside him down the grand staircase. She kept close to his side, her shoulder occasionally brushing his arm. Every time a pack member passed them in the hallway, they bowed their heads, but Kaelen’s presence acted like a shield, keeping them from getting too close to her.

He led her out a side door of the lodge, stepping into a sprawling, enclosed courtyard. The ground was covered in soft green grass, and wild mountain flowers bloomed in stone planters along the perimeter. A high wooden fence blocked the view of the main pack paths, giving the space a quiet privacy.

Nila closed her eyes, letting the cool mountain breeze hit her face, her fingers tracing the soft petals of a yellow flower. For a single, fleeting second, the paranoia slipped away. She felt a tiny, fragile spark of peace flare in her chest.

Then, the heavy wooden gate of the courtyard slammed open, the wood cracking loudly against the stone wall.

Nila jumped, her survival instincts slamming back into place as she scrambled behind Kaelen, her heart racing.

A young woman, around Nila's age, marched into the courtyard, her chest heaving, her long, dark hair wild around her shoulders. She wore mud-stained leather riding gear, and her amber eyes were blazing with a frantic, protective fury.

Her gaze locked directly onto Kaelen, then shifted violently to Nila, who was peeking out from behind his shoulder.

The woman’s hand dropped to the hilt of the dagger at her hip, her voice cutting through the quiet morning like a whip.

"What the hell did you do at the border, Kaelen?" the woman angrily demanded, taking a sharp step forward, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as she stared at Nila. "And who the hell is this?"