The second night did not bring rest. It brought silence so carefully held that Sable felt it before she opened her door the next morning.
The pack house was awake, but too controlled, as if everyone had agreed on a temporary truce that could splinter the moment someone pushed too openly.
Routine still moved beneath it, the bells, the footsteps, the muted traffic through the halls, yet everything carried the strained caution of a place that had been forced to remember where its Alpha's attention now rested.
Sable dressed slowly, her movements deliberate, the pain in her ribs and shoulder no longer sharp enough to stun her, but constant enough to follow every motion. Visibility had never cost her only once. It settled into the body and collected there.
When she stepped into the corridor, no one stopped her. No one greeted her either. She was allowed to move, but not invited to exist.
