Seren had dreamed of this moment for weeks. The moment when the walls of Silvermoor would rise before her, when she would ride through the gates and see her mates waiting. Now that it was here, her throat was too tight for words.
Kael rode beside her, his wounded ribs hidden beneath a fresh tunic, his face tired but peaceful. The column stretched behind them; fifty soldiers, five wagons of supplies, and a dozen northern villagers who had volunteered to travel south and share their stories with the council.
The gates opened.
And there they were.
Aeron stood in the centre of the courtyard, his grey cloak dusted with snow, his posture rigid as always. But his hands; his hands were trembling. Just slightly. Just enough for Seren to see.
Theron stood beside him, and for once, there was no mask. No charming smile. No calculated ease. Just a man watching his mate ride home.
Seren dismounted before her horse had fully stopped.
Theron reached her first.
