Eyes shimmered with envy.
But the illusion cracked the moment Riven’s crystal comms chimed.
He glanced at it. Freya caught a flicker of the contact name before the screen dimmed, “My Darling.”
A tiny, sharp silence fell.
Riven rose abruptly, smoothing his expression into something neutral. “Freya, the council summoned me.” His voice was practiced, steady. “I’ll bring back your favorite lunar pastries.”
He ruffled Kael’s hair. “Be a strong little wolf. Protect Mommy.”
“I want to go with Daddy!” Kael whined, reaching for him.
Riven hesitated, torn for a breath. “Maybe I should bring him—”
“Go,” Freya interrupted, calm and deceptively steady. “Take him. It’ll be easier for me.”
Riven blinked, surprised, but didn’t push. He lifted Kael into his arms and headed for the door. Just before stepping out, he paused, glancing back.
The dusk-light seeped through the enchanted windows, washing Freya in muted silver. She looked fragile. Drained. Almost fading.
And she didn’t look at him—not once. Her gaze stayed fixed on the barren horizon beyond the Corvath Pack’s borders, as though she were bracing herself against something only she could see.
Hours passed.
No council summons came. No report. No pastries.