The night stretched endlessly.
Fin lay awake long after the camp had fallen into silence, his eyes fixed on the canvas ceiling above him. Every shifting shadow from the fire outside seemed to carry the shape of her name. The faint flicker of lanternlight felt like a ghost passing.
He waited—for footsteps, for the whisper of fabric at the tent flap, for the scent of her skin on the air. But she did not come.
When sleep finally took him, it was thin and broken. He dreamt—or thought he did—that she was there beside him for a heartbeat.
He could almost smell it, that soft signature of vanilla and moonlight and something wild he could never name, only feel.
But when dawn broke, he reached for her and touched nothing but cold linen and empty space.
The truth settled in his chest like stone. She had been sleeping alone for days. This was only his first night doing the same. And gods, it hurt more than he had imagined.
He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground as if the answers to everything lived in the dirt beneath his boots. He hadn't seen her since the fight.
Since the words had come out too fast, too sharp, fueled by fear instead of faith. He'd yelled when he should have listened. He'd doubted her when she needed him steady.
By the time the sun rose high enough to cut through the morning fog, he looked wrecked. He had dark circles beneath his eyes. His shoulders were drawn and grief was carved plainly across his face. He had worn many masks in his time, but not this one. Not the truth of loss.
The next time he saw her, he swore to himself, he would pull her into his arms and not let go. He would tell her everything he should have said when it mattered most. That he was sorry. That he had been a fool.
He would tell her how proud he was. How much he loved her.
And how deeply, painfully, endlessly he regretted every word he'd spoken in anger.
Fin crossed the field and approached Jax's tent. The flap hung half-open, morning light spilling across a table strewn with maps and half-crumpled reports. The scent of ink and steel lingered in the air.
"Can we talk?" Fin's voice was low, rough with exhaustion and guilt.
Jax didn't look up right away. He moved one report aside, straightened another, then finally raised his eyes. His expression was unreadable.
"You have something to say, say it."
Fin stepped inside but didn't sit. He stood tense, arms folded, eyes locked to the floor. "You were right. Everything you said yesterday. You were right." He exhaled, voice unsteady. "I lost my temper. I... I handled it like a coward." He paused. "If I ever speak to her like that again, I give you full leave to knock me flat."
Jax leaned back slowly in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "That's generous of you."
The silence stretched. Fin didn't fill it.
"You think one apology erases what you said to her?" Jax asked, voice quiet but sharp. "She defended your name, stood in your place, and you tore her down for it."
Fin flinched, jaw clenched tight. "I know."
Jax exhaled, slow and heavy. His fists relaxed slightly at his sides, but the tension in his shoulders remained. He studied Fin like he wasn't sure if he was going to punch him again or just walk away.
Fin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His voice was low, stripped of command. "I ruined it," he said. A beat. "One week in."
He stared at the ground like it might answer for him.
Jax watched him for a long moment, unreadable. Then he sighed.
"You're an ass," he said plainly.
The corner of his mouth tugged upward anyway.
Fin nodded once, sharp and short, like accepting a verdict. He did not try to defend himself. He could not.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but no longer volatile. When Jax spoke again, something had shifted. His jaw eased. The fire in his eyes cooled into something steadier.
"But," Jax added, "you're learning."
Fin huffed out a humorless breath. "If you're going to hit me again, just get it over with."
Jax rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Always the dramatic," he muttered.
Fin hesitated, then extended his hand. No Alpha posturing. No rank. Just him. "Brothers?"
Jax looked at the offered hand for a second longer than necessary. Then he took it. His grip was firm. Grounded. Unyielding.
"Brothers," he said.
At that moment, Cael strode in, arms folded. "What's this? A reconciliation without me? You two are far too sentimental before breakfast."
Jax cracked a grin. "We were just talking about how Fin needs to be punched."
"Excellent." Cael rubbed his hands together. "I demand a rematch between you two."
Fin snorted, some of the weight lifting from his chest. "I think Jax might have us both now."
They talked and laughed—loud and rough, the kind of laughter that comes from shared battles and unspoken forgiveness. But when the laughter faded, the silence that followed hung heavy.
Someone was missing.
And all three of them felt it.
___________________________
He exited the tent and walked the camp, boots crunching over gravel and pine needles, eyes scanning every face. Her scent lingered, faint but unmistakable—vanilla and moonlight —but she was nowhere to be found.
What should have comforted him only hollowed him deeper. Because the bond remained quiet. Not just dulled—silent. No warmth, no echo, no tether pulling gently in the back of his mind. For months, she had been a constant presence inside him. Even when apart, she was there. Now she was not.
The silence screamed.
He followed the fading trail through rows of tents, past healers wrapping wounds, smiths stoking forges, guards standing at quiet attention. Each person he asked gave the same answer.
"Aye, I saw her not long ago, my king. Near the ridge."
"Near the dragons."
"Near the gates."
Always just out of reach. Like chasing smoke.
The day passed in a blur of obligations. Reports. Meetings. War strategy. His body moved, his mouth spoke, but none of it landed. It was all noise—pointless, dull, and lifeless. The space where she should have been gnawed at him with every passing hour.
When the sun set, she was still gone.
He returned to his tent, jaw tight with hope he didn't want to name. He wished she would be there waiting for him to return. Inside, the bed was untouched. The space was quiet. Too quiet.
He turned out of his tent immediately and walked to Aeron's, hoping she'd be there. Of course she'd be with Aeron, they were working on deciphering the other riddles their ancestors left.
But when he entered, it was just Aeron who sat.
"Have you seen Nova?" Fin asked, praying she was near.
"She left," he said. "I opened a portal for her to return to Shadowclaw in the afternoon."
Fin's heart sank. "Did she say when she'd return?"
"No." Aeron said flatly. He clearly was not pleased with Fin either.