Elowyn kept the note folded tight in her pocket, fingertips brushing the soft edge again and again as class continued. She barely heard Master Yorrin’s words now — not about scent-mapping, not about scent recall or wolf-linked sensory flares.

Her thoughts were burning.

“Same scent as yesterday. Muted. But buried under something powdery. Like binding dust. Wolf can’t read it. Doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

No insults.

No slurs.

No ridicule.

Just a quiet ...