Morning light crept thin through the cabin window, casting a pale wash over the furs.
I woke before anyone else—not because of nightmares this time, but out of habit and the baby's restless stirring. Ronan's words from yesterday kept replaying in my head: You can carry your pain, or you can carry your future. But you can't carry both.
The den felt different today. Lighter somehow, though I couldn't quite put my finger on why.
I lay still for a while, soaking in the quiet sounds of the den waking up—the steady rise and fall of Ronan's breath near the door, Kaela's soft footsteps as she checked the snares outside, Mira humming low while grinding herbs. The little token Mira had carved warmed my palm like a secret pact between me and the world.
I rolled onto my side to get up, and the world answered with a small, impossible thump beneath my hand.
