Petal's POV

The morning after the battle smelled of rain, smoke, and blood.

It clung to the air, heavy and sour, seeping into everything the dirt, the walls, even my skin. I stood at the courtyard’s edge, watching the wolves bury their dead.

They didn’t sing. Wolves rarely did.

They simply dug, bowed, and covered the bodies in silence.

I should’ve felt relief that it was over, but there was no relief here. Just exhaustion, and that quiet ache that came when you realized surviving ...