Arius‘s pov.

We returned to the camp, a clearing lit faintly by the dying embers of a fire. The air was too warm with the lingering scent of pine, ash, and the ever-present hum of tension. Freya was radiant—glowing with the kind of softness I had only ever seen in mortal stories, some fairy tale kind of contentment. She was flanked by Dorian and Tiberius, both visibly relaxed. For a moment, they were the perfect image of unity. A pack within a pack.

It made my skin ...