JAYNAYAH

The girl did not take my hand.

She stared at it as if kindness had teeth.

I kept my palm open between us and waited, feeling the pack gathered behind me in a tense, breathless line. The morning sun had just begun to warm the grass, but the boundary still shimmered silver-violet through the trees, restless from opening.

Mace stood at my back.

Close enough that I could feel him through the bond. Far enough that he did not crowd her.

The girl’s torn cloak shifted.

At first, I thought it was the wind.

Then a small hand slipped from beneath the fabric and clutched at her ribs.

My...