The corridor outside the Alpha's quarters smelled like fresh blood and splintered wood.
It was the kind of scent that didn't fade quickly, not when rain had dampened the stone and made everything cling. Sable stood just inside the door with the training strap still tight in her fist, her pulse too loud in her ears, her stomach turning in short, sharp surges that she refused to obey. She forced her breathing slow through her nose, then through her mouth when the iron tang of blood became too much, and she kept her shoulders squared even as her body tried to fold inward toward the den behind her.
Cassian barred the door again, not one latch but two, then turned back to her with his eyes still black from what he'd done in the corridor. He didn't look at the blood outside. He didn't look at the broken frame. He looked at her like nothing else mattered until he confirmed she was intact.
"Are you hurt," he asked again, quieter this time, the question stripped down to its core.
