Six dead.
The number kept circling in my brain on repeat while I sat in the medical building watching Draven and the pack healers work on the fifteen injured, and I couldn't stop thinking that six was a small number until it meant six people who'd been alive an hour ago and weren't anymore.
Six families getting news that would break them.
Six wolves who'd trusted me to keep them safe.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I'd washed the blood off twice and they still felt sticky, still looked stained even though the water had run clear, and I knew that was psychosomatic or whatever but knowing didn't make it stop.
"Drink this." Isabelle appeared with tea I didn't want and sat beside me without asking permission.
I took the mug because refusing seemed harder than accepting, and the warmth of it helped even though my stomach was in no shape to handle actual liquid.
"It's not your fault." Her voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact.
"Six people died."
