As Aldus stepped out of the council chambers, the echoes of his advisors' debates still ringing faintly in his ears. But his mind was not on the council's matters.
It was on Livia—on the fragile figure lying in the clinic, consumed by fear and worry for her wolf.
Even now, he could see her in his mind's eye: tears streaked across her cheeks, her small frame trembling as she clung to him earlier.
The sight left a tight ache in his chest, one he hadn't expected. Aldus was used to command, to strength, to control—but not to this… this fierce, aching protectiveness.
He walked to the edge of the balcony, overlooking the moonlit forest, and took a deep breath. She's hurting. And he can't do anything while she's lying there alone, scared out of her mind. The thought gnawed at him like a relentless predator.
Her sobs haunted him—the raw, desperate sound of someone who had already lost too much in life.
