Revna P.O.V.
As soon as the flight attendant leaves, a wave of embarrassment washes over me. I can't help feeling it's my fault for not keeping a closer eye on Jasper. Looking back at Gram, I see Jasper still perched smugly in his arms, chewing the last of the stolen steak as if he's won a war. I swallow hard and step forward, my voice shaky.
"I... I should apologize," I murmur, stealing a quick, guilty glance at Jasper before dropping my gaze again, unsure whether I mean the woman or Elijah.
Before I can take another step, Elijah places his hand on my shoulder. His touch is both terrifying and soothing. He speaks softly. "You have nothing to apologize for." He smiles. "Do you want to sit out here with us? We're going to land soon."
My chest tightens as I nod. I'm not used to someone defending me and then comforting me afterward. I let him lead me to a seat by the window; Willow trots behind us with her tail low, as if she, too, senses the lingering tension. I sink into the seat, still feeling the ghost of his hand on my shoulder. My mind still echoes the nightmare, like a scratched record on repeat.
Elijah sits beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not so close that I feel trapped. He seems worried about scaring me. He studies me as if trying to learn who I am–my flinches, the breaths I take, my silence–and something inside me aches at the tenderness of it all.
Willow curls up at my feet like a furry shield. Jasper–traitor he is–has abandoned me entirely and now sprawls across Gram's lap, licking steak juice off his paws. I just shake my head at his silly antics.
Sensing my uneasiness, Elijah sighs. "I promise–you don't owe anyone an apology. The food is for you all." He reaches out and touches my knee. "We should be close; you should be able to see the pack house here soon." He points at the window.
I nod and lean to the window, pressing my forehead against the glass. The clouds thin just enough for the world below to reveal itself, and my breath catches in my throat. There, rising from the edge of the sea like something pulled from a half-remembered dream, stands a massive white castle. Its walls gleam against the dark blues of the North Atlantic, the stone so pale it almost looks carved from moonlight. Waves crash against the cliffs beneath it, sending sprays of silver mist curling upward as if the ocean itself bows to the fortress.
I press my palm to the window, unable to look away, clinging to every detail.
Behind the castle, a sprawling village stretches, tucked safely between rolling green hills and the rugged coastline. Slate roofs cluster together like a patchwork quilt, smoke drifting lazily from chimneys despite the wind. Narrow cobblestone streets wind between the houses, leading toward a bustling market square that looks alive even from this height. It feels old–older than anything I've ever seen–as if the land itself has shaped it long before any of us existed.
A strange warmth blooms in my chest.
I shouldn't know this place. I shouldn't feel anything for it.
And yet... something inside me stirs, a whisper beneath my ribs, soft and certain.... Home.
The word isn't mine. It comes from somewhere deeper – from the wolf pacing quietly inside me, from the memories I haven't yet unlocked, from the girl I used to be before fire and shadows stole everything.
Elijah shifts beside me, but I can't tear my eyes away from the sight below. The castle. The village. The sea. The wild, ancient beauty of the Scottish islands. I don't know why... but I feel like the land is waiting for me.