Yvonne walked with her brother and Maya, their steps echoing too loudly.
The corridors of the Sky Wolves' fortress were nothing like home.
Back in her own clan's halls, walls were close and warm, fires always burning, the air scented with pine and earth. Here, the stone stretched higher than it needed to, and every flicker of torchlight seemed to be swallowed whole by the shadows.
Servants in gray robes passed them with bowed heads, never speaking. Wolves in black and silver armor stood silent at intersections, their eyes following.
It felt less like being welcomed, more like being measured.
They were shown to a guest chamber—one of many, lined in a row like cells. The room was fine enough: a bed of carved wood, soft rugs, a basin of water that steamed faintly. But it was cold. Even the luxury here seemed designed to remind them they did not belong.
Yurre dismissed Maya gently, asking her to rest, then turned to Yvonne once they were alone. His face was set hard.
"You need to be careful," he said.
She arched a brow. "I always am."
"Don't," he snapped, sharper than usual. "Don't joke. You think no one noticed in the hall? You think he didn't?"
Her chest tightened. Of course he noticed. She had felt his stare like a hand on her throat.
Still, she lifted her chin. "So what if he did?"
Yurre stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't understand these people. One wrong word, one wrong look, and they'll make an example out of you. Out of us. And you'd like nothing more than to give them a reason."
Yvonne swallowed down the reply burning on her tongue. He wasn't wrong. But she hated the way fear shaped his voice. She hated how small it made them feel.
When Yurre finally left for his own chamber, she sat alone in the cold room, staring at the basin of water until the steam faded. Sleep wouldn't come. Her mind replayed the elder's words, the promise of trials at dawn, and over it all, the sound of his voice.
Lux.
She cursed under her breath, dragging herself up. If she stayed here, she would claw the walls down with her restlessness.
The corridors at night were quieter. The guards still stood at their posts, but most of the halls were empty, filled only with the drafty breath of the mountain. Yvonne moved quietly, her bare feet silent on the stone, curiosity pulling her deeper into the fortress.
She turned a corner—and nearly collided with him.
Lux.
For the briefest moment, they were close enough that the torchlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the pale gleam of his eyes. He stopped short, though he did not seem surprised.
Her breath caught. She had imagined this—crossing his path again—but not like this, not so soon, not with silence pressing so thick between them.
"You should be in your room," he said. His voice was low, not a reprimand exactly, but not gentle either.
"And you?" she countered before she could stop herself.
One dark brow lifted, the smallest flicker of amusement ghosting across his face. "This is my home."
Heat rose to her cheeks. She hated that he could make her feel like a child caught where she shouldn't be. She straightened her spine. "I couldn't sleep."
Something unreadable passed through his eyes. He studied her a long moment, as if weighing the truth of her words.
"This place doesn't rest easily on outsiders," he said at last.
It wasn't sympathy. It wasn't mockery either. More like a fact spoken aloud, a truth he didn't care whether she liked or not.
Yvonne's lips curved in a faint, defiant smile. "Then perhaps your walls should learn to be kinder."
The air shifted between them. His gaze sharpened, not angered but intrigued, like a wolf tilting its head at an unexpected sound.
"You speak boldly," he said.
She tilted her chin higher. "Would you rather I whisper?"
For the first time, a true flicker of a smile tugged at his mouth, quick and fleeting. It unsettled her more than any glare would have.
Silence stretched, thick with things neither of them would say. Yvonne's pulse beat fast, too loud in her own ears. She told herself she should go, that she should break the moment before it bound her tighter. But her feet stayed rooted.
Finally, Lux inclined his head, stepping aside to let her pass. "Rest, little wolf. Tomorrow will be long."
The words should have felt dismissive, but the way his voice curled around them left her unsettled. She brushed past him, refusing to look back, though every step away felt heavier than it should.
When she finally returned to her chamber, she lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Her brother's warning echoed in her ears.
Don't draw his attention.
Too late.
And the worst part was, she wasn't sorry.