By noon, Ivy was already there.

She stood at the edge of the inner grounds, dressed in plain black training clothes. Her sleeves were rolled up. Her hair was tied back tight. She looked calm, but Cassien could see it in her shoulders. She was coiled. Ready. Angry.

Cassien approached without greeting.

“Follow me,” he said.

She fell into step beside him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private.”

She frowned. “Why?”

They passed the open training fields. Wolves were sparring under ...