I woke to the sound of rain.
Real rain this time.
Not dream-water.
It pattered softly against the window, a steady, soothing rhythm.
My body felt like it had been trampled by an entire herd of elk.
Twice.
I tried to move.
Every muscle screamed.
“Don’t.”
Tiernan’s voice came from somewhere to my left, rough with sleep and something else.
I turned my head—slowly—and found him slumped in a chair beside my bed, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. His hair was a mess, his jaw shadowed, dark circles under his eyes.
He looked exhausted.
And beautiful.
Ashra purred. *We like waking to this view.*
“How long?” I croaked.
He blinked blearily, then straightened. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re awake.”
“That answers…nothing,” I said.
He huffed a laugh. “Two days,” he said. “On and off. Mostly out. You’d surface long enough to mumble about soup and then crash again.”
I flushed. “Soup?”
“You’re very consistent in your culinary metaphors,” he said.
“Please tell me I didn’t…say anything else embarrassing,” I begged.
He looked far too pleased. “You told Brenna you loved her more than bread.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“You told Eren if he tripped over your paws again you’d use him as kindling,” he added.
“Also true.”
He hesitated.
“And you told me…” He cleared his throat. “You told me I smelled like home.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “I was delirious,” I muttered.
His eyes softened. “I know,” he said. “Still liked hearing it.”
My heart did a stupid little flip.
“Did it work?” I asked quickly. “The sealing. The…stitches.”
“For now,” he said. “The ravine’s quiet. Anja says the hum is…normal. Whatever that means. The stonekeepers are still grumbling over readings, but they all agree the worst of the crack is…patched.”
“And Ashra?” I asked quietly.
“The old one?” he clarified.
I nodded.
He rubbed his jaw. “Quieter,” he said. “In the stones. Rian says the stormstones in our mountains stopped buzzing like beehives. Nyla said her ice shrines are sulking instead of screaming. That’s…an improvement.”
“That’s what we’re calling success now?” I muttered. “Sulking gods?”
“I’ll take sulking over scheming,” he said.
Fair.
My gaze drifted to the window.
Gray sky.
Wet tree branches.
A few warriors moving through the yard below, cloaks pulled tight.
“Everyone else?” I asked. “Elyra. Rhys. The others.”
“Alive,” he said. “Tired. Grumpy. Relieved. Rhys nearly passed out after the ritual and is in deep denial about it. Elyra’s been splitting her time between him, you, and writing very pointed letters to the Temple about how perhaps the Moon might want to take a more active role when her old enemies crawl out of holes.”
I blinked. “She can…yell at the Goddess?”
“She can yell at the Temple,” he corrected. “Which is the next best thing.”
My lips twitched.
“Callen?” I asked.
Tiernan’s face tightened. “No body,” he said. “No clear…presence. Anja says there’s *something* of him down there. An echo. A thread. But she can’t tell if he’s alive, dead, bound, or something in between.”
Guilt pricked. “I didn’t mean to…drop him,” I said.
He shook his head. “You didn’t,” he said. “You tilted. The earth chose where to fall. He chose where to stand. His choices put him in that path.”
I swallowed. “That feels like…semantics.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But you also saved that pup. If you hadn’t held the edge, she’d have gone first.”
My chest ached. “How is she?”
“Scared,” he said. “Clingy. She won’t go near the ravine. Or trees. Or cliffs. But she’s alive. Her parents are…grateful. Terrified. Angry at the world. The usual.”
I exhaled slowly. “We’ll have to…talk to her,” I said. “So she knows her fear isn’t…weakness.”
He smiled faintly. “Look at you,” he said. “Thinking like a Luna.”
I snorted. “Don’t swear at me.”
His laugh was soft.
Silence stretched for a moment.
“Stormwake’s stonekeepers left this morning,” he said. “Nyla’s witches too. Varek’s scribes took half our library to ‘study’ with them.” He rolled his eyes. “The Summit’s officially over. Most delegations have gone home.”
“And you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
He hesitated.
“I should,” he said slowly. “Stormwake needs me. We have our own stones. Our own wolves. My mother has probably worn a groove pacing the mountain by now.”
Pain pricked.
“I understand,” I said, careful.
He studied me.
“But,” he went on, “Stormwake also has Rian. And a competent Beta. And stonekeepers. And a Luna who can smack my father upside the head if he starts mumbling about dead mates again.”
He leaned forward.
“Redwood,” he said, “has one exhausted elemental girl who just told a storm goddess ‘no’ to her face. A ravine with fresh stitches. A pack trying to relearn how to treat her. And a very tired alpha who wants to make sure she doesn’t think she’s being abandoned the moment the crisis passes.”
My throat tightened. “So…you’re staying,” I whispered.
“For a while,” he said. “Long enough to see you through the worst of the aftershocks. Long enough to help Kellan rebuild the western wards. Long enough to annoy Rhys into admitting he was wrong. Maybe longer.”
“Long enough for me to turn eighteen,” I said softly.
His gaze sharpened.
“Yes,” he said. “At least that.”
The unspoken hung between us.
At eighteen, I could choose.
Pack.
Mate.
Future.
Freedom.
Or something like it.
Ashra hummed, pleased. *He stays,* she said. *Good. We like him here.*
“Don’t you have your own pack to take care of?” I asked, because if I didn’t joke, I might cry.
“Yes,” he said. “And I’m taking care of them by being here. Because if whatever’s under your ravine wakes fully, it won’t stop at Redwood’s borders. It will climb mountains. It will flood rivers. Every anchor point is part of the same web.”
“Convenient excuse,” I said.
“Very,” he agreed. “I’m using it shamelessly.”
I laughed, then winced as my ribs protested.
He frowned. “You should rest,” he said. “Miri said not to let you talk for more than ten minutes.”
“Miri’s not here,” I pointed out.
“She threatened to withhold pain relief if I didn’t obey,” he said.
I sighed. “Traitor.”
“Practical,” he corrected.
He stood, stretching.
I watched the way his shirt pulled over his shoulders, then forced my eyes away.
“Tiernan?” I said.
He paused.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For staying. For…everything.”
He smiled, small and a little tired.
“Always,” he said again.
He moved toward the door, then stopped, hand on the handle.
“Kaia,” he said without turning. “When the time comes—when you’re of age, when the packs aren’t watching every breath—we’ll talk. Properly. About…us. About what you want. No gods. No alphas. No storms. Just you. And me. Agreed?”
My heart thumped.
“Agreed,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“Rest,” he said.
As the door clicked softly shut behind him, I let my head fall back against the pillow.
Rain pattered.
Ashra sighed contentedly.
*He is good,* she said. *Stubborn. Loyal. Smells nice.*
“You’re obsessed with his smell,” I muttered.
*Our smell,* she corrected smugly. *We are pack.*
The word settled warm in my chest.
Pack.
Not as a chain.
As a choice.
I drifted off with that thought curled under my ribs, like a small, fierce, growing thing.
A seed.
A possibility.
A future.
Not written yet.
But finally, *finally*, partly in my hands.