Kaelen POV
By dusk, the Barrens went quiet in a way that made even veterans listen to their own breathing.
We kept the ridge lit. Small, tight fires. No sparks drifting. Every line held. Every eye watched the southern markers where Elara would climb the slope. The bond stayed as she'd left it—screened, not severed. Quiet, not gone. She was steady. She was not safe. She was not in danger.
She did not come.
The first hour stretched. Captains checked watches they didn't wear. Scouts cycled false alarms they didn't mean. Someone laughed too loudly and went silent too fast.
"She's late," the sharp-faced elder said, stepping to the edge of the tent light. "You called this trust. The pack is starting to call it surrender."
"She's alive," I said. "She's working."
"Working with him." The elder's mouth was a line. "We should strike his southern screen now—"
"No." My voice cut across the ridge. "No heroes. No sparks. We don't start a war because our fear wants something to punch."
