Fog still hung low when Torres arrived beside her.
Fog clung to the path as the Alpha moved forward, boots silent on damp stone. Nobody followed behind. Not a single soldier in sight. The air hung still when he reached the guest rooms. Inside, Sage sat with Zion, both looking up at the sound of footsteps drawing near.
At the doorway, Sage stood waiting. Four hours of sleep was what she'd gotten - just right for her wolf's strength to return, though it didn't soften the dark marks beneath her eyes. Clean skin now, thanks to a wash earlier that morning. Clothes on, pulled from the bag Dorian prepared. Her hair ran down her back in a firm braid, one shaped like those from her days with Crimson Howl, tugged neatly away from her forehead. That knot behind her head held memories tighter than thread.
Threads of battle woven tight. Into a fight she doubted she'd walk away from.
