SERAPHINA’S POV
The next few days blurred into fast-paced monotony.
Meetings bled into strategy sessions, into training sessions, into back-and-forths between Nightfang and OTS' temporary base, into moments when I found myself staring at nothing in particular, my thoughts looping through impossibilities I couldn’t quite resolve.
Every decision felt as if it carried weight far beyond itself, as if one wrong move would tip something fragile into collapse.
Nightfang was holding, but only just. The attack had left more than physical damage—it planted hesitation and doubt, far harder to root out.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been carrying all of it, the tension high and unyielding, until Kieran touched my wrist one evening and I flinched, startled more by my own unease than by him.
His fingers stilled against my skin.
“Sera.” His voice was soft, careful.
I forced a small breath out. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t respond immediately, and that alone told me he didn’t believe me.
