Hope

Lina is right on time.

I know because my foot has been tapping beneath the table for far too long, a restless rhythm I can’t quite still. Camille is speaking—something about trade routes, I think—but my attention keeps sliding to the door, to the seconds stretching thin. My heart pounds too hard, too fast, and I force myself to breathe slowly, evenly.

Easy, my wolf murmurs inside me. Do not bare your teeth before the hunt.

The door opens at last, and Lina slips in with a tray balanced carefully in her hands. Dessert. Tea. Everything looks normal. Harmless. Domestic.

My stomach twists.

She sets the tray down with...