Aslaan's POV

The scent of sickness still lingered in the air long after the healers had burned the bandages.

No matter how much smoke or herbs filled the halls, it clung to the stone, to my skin, to my thoughts. Death had a way of doing that. It didn’t just leave. It waited, patient as rot.

I stood at the window overlooking the lower courtyard. The night had settled heavy, pressing against the roofs like a held breath. From up here, I could see the faint glow of torches where my wolves ...