Sable did not remember how long it took her to reach the service entrance.
Time refused to move in a straight line on the walk back. It fractured into uneven pieces, measured only in breath, pain, and the stubborn insistence of forcing one foot in front of the other while the world narrowed around the next step and nothing beyond it.
The cart rattled beside her as she dragged it with one hand, its wheels catching against stone and broken ground, each jolt sending a sharp, nauseating pull through her shoulder and down her arm.
Her grip closed around the handle until her fingers went numb, her jaw locked hard enough to make her teeth ache, and still she kept moving.
When the service entrance finally came into view, it felt farther away than it should have been, the half-open door spilling lantern light across the ground like a boundary she had to cross before her body gave in.
As she reached it, her legs faltered in a way they had not allowed before.
Her knees trembled, her vision blurred, and for a moment she stood on the threshold with the distinct understanding that if she stopped moving now, she might not start again, so she forced herself forward.
Inside, the air closed around her, warmer and thick with familiar smells, and the noise of the pack house returned without hesitation.
Voices carried through the corridor, footsteps passed at a distance, and the world continued as if nothing had happened beyond its walls.
Sable let her forehead rest briefly against the stone just inside the door, drawing in shallow, controlled breaths while the dizziness loosened its hold.
The pain in her shoulder had altered, no longer sharp in clean flashes, but deep and constant, a grinding pressure that made her stomach turn whenever she moved even slightly.
She understood enough to know what that meant, and the knowledge sat heavy in her chest.
Something was not right.
A servant turned the corner ahead of her, arms full of folded cloth, and nearly collided with the cart.
The woman recoiled with a startled sound, then stilled as her gaze took Sable in properly: the dirt across her cheek, the blood at her mouth, the way her arm hung unnaturally still at her side.
"Oh," she said under her breath.
Sable forced herself straighter despite the protest of her body.
"Move."
Her voice came out rougher than she intended, scraped raw at the edges, but it was enough.
The servant hesitated only a moment before stepping aside and pressing herself to the wall, her eyes dropping as if looking directly at Sable might draw attention she did not want.
Sable pushed past her and kept walking.
By the time she reached the wash-house, her steps had begun to fail her.
She left the cart where it stood, half blocking the entrance, and slipped into the narrow space beside the basins where steam thickened the air and softened sound.
Heat wrapped around her immediately, making her head swim, but it gave her something close to privacy, and that mattered more than comfort.
She made it two steps inside before her knees gave.
The stone floor met her hard, and she let herself sink back against the wall, her breath breaking as the full weight of the pain caught up with her.
It rolled through her now that she had stopped, no longer held back by motion, no longer fooled by the simple demand to keep going.
For a while, she did nothing but sit there with her undamaged hand pressed over her mouth as she forced herself to breathe through it, slow and controlled.
Her shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat, a deep, grinding ache that made even the thought of movement unbearable.
She knew she should test it, should understand what she was dealing with, but the idea of moving it sent a fresh wave of dizziness through her skull.
She closed her eyes instead.
The memory came back anyway.
Hands, weight, laughter, the moment something inside her body had given beneath pressure.
She swallowed hard and forced the images down before they could take shape. Letting them settle here would break something she could not afford to lose.
Footsteps passed outside.
Her body braced on instinct, breath catching, every muscle alert as she listened.
The steps continued without slowing, voices drifting past in casual conversation, and only then did she allow herself to exhale.
Time slipped again after that.
Eventually the heat became too much, the air too thick, and she forced herself upright using the edge of a basin.
The movement pulled brutally through her shoulder, and a broken sound escaped before she could swallow it.
Someone paused outside from it and Sable went still, breath held, heart pounding against her ribs.
After a moment, the footsteps moved on.
She sagged against the basin, her breathing uneven, then reached for the water jug with her undamaged hand and splashed her face. The cold helped, clearing her head just enough to think past the pain.
She knew she could not hide this.
Bruises could be ignored, but an arm that would not move would be noticed, and being noticed meant questions. Questions led to explanations, and explanations in Grimridge rarely remained what they were at the beginning.
She needed something that could pass for truth.
Sable straightened slowly and tested the smallest possible movement, barely lifting her shoulder.
The joint felt unstable, wrong in a way that made her stomach twist, and she knew enough to understand it was likely out of place, if not worse.
She rinsed the blood from her mouth, wiped the worst of the dirt from her face, and tied her hair back more firmly than before, forcing herself into a shape that looked controlled.
When she stepped back into the corridor, she held her arm close to her body, her posture rigid, every movement deliberate.
The first person who noticed was not a warrior, it was Mara.
The older woman stood near the laundry tables, sorting cloth with practiced efficiency.
She looked up as Sable entered, and her gaze sharpened immediately, taking in the stiffness of her posture, the pallor beneath the dirt and the way her arm did not move.
"What happened?"
Sable stopped a few steps away.
"I fell," she replied, the lie arriving with ease.
"On the perimeter."
Mara's mouth hardened.
"You don't fall like that."
Sable held her gaze.
"I did."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Mara exhaled through her nose, something close to frustration crossing her expression before it settled into something more practical.
"Sit."
Sable obeyed, lowering herself carefully onto the bench, every motion controlled to avoid jarring her shoulder further.
Mara crossed the space between them and crouched in front of her, her eyes scanning the injury without touching it yet.
"Can you move it?" she asked.
Sable shook her head and Mara swore quietly.
"You need a healer."
"No." The word came out too quickly, edged with something closer to panic than she meant to reveal.
"They'll ask questions. They'll make it worse."
Mara studied her face for a long time, weighing something Sable could not see.
Then she nodded once, sharp and resigned.
"Then we do it here."
She stood and disappeared briefly into the storage area, returning with cloth and oil, her movements efficient. When she came back to Sable, her hands were firm but careful, supporting the injured arm with practiced precision.
"This is going to hurt," she said.
Sable gave a small nod, bracing herself without truly knowing how.
Mara adjusted her grip, then moved.
Pain tore through Sable in a blinding surge, sharp and absolute, ripping a scream from her before she could stop it.
Her body arched against the force of it, vision flashing white, breath gone entirely for a moment that stretched too long.
Then the pressure altered.
The worst of the pain eased just enough for air to reach her again, though every inhale came ragged and unsteady.
She sagged forward, shaking, her entire body reacting in delayed tremors she could not control.
Mara worked quickly after that, binding the joint firmly with practiced hands.
"You're lucky," she muttered.
"Another inch and it would have torn worse."
Lucky did not feel like the right word.
When she finished, she stepped back, her expression hard again.
"You don't tell anyone," she said.
"Not a word."
Sable nodded, swallowing hard.
"Thank you."
Mara's gaze softened only slightly.
"Don't thank me. Just be careful."
Sable let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"I was."
Mara did not argue.
By the time Sable reached her room, exhaustion had settled deep into her bones.
She closed the door behind her and slid the lock into place, the sound small but final, then leaned against the wood for a moment as her body caught up with everything she had forced it through.
After a while, she pushed herself away and crossed to the cot, lowering herself onto it with care before letting the rest of her weight follow.
The pain settled into a steady, relentless throb, spreading from her shoulder down her arm and across her back.
She stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly, forcing her body to follow the rhythm whether it wanted to or not.
No one came this time. Not Adrian, nor Cassian.
After a while, it became clear that no one was going to.
Some part of her, quiet and dangerous, had expected something different.
She turned onto her side carefully, curling around the injured arm to protect it, her jaw held firm as the understanding settled into place.
Adrian could intervene when he was there.
Cassian could act when he chose to.
But neither of them existed in the spaces where she lived most of her life.
This was what remained when they were not looking.
The pack corrected what did not fit, and it did so most thoroughly when no one important was watching.
Sable closed her eyes, her breathing steadying as the first shock faded and left something colder behind.
She could not rely on rescue.
She could not rely on protection.
If she survived Grimridge, it would be through learning where it did not look, where it did not listen, and how to move through those spaces without drawing its attention.
And if help came again, she would take it for what it was.
Survival had never been about being saved.
It was about what she managed to become after no one came.