Each morning began with the creak of the shutters, the pounding of footsteps, and the slow rhythm of Keagan’s breathing growing a little steadier. He was getting better—just not well enough. His fever had broken after two days, but the cough and phlegm lingered. Every few hours it came in fits that doubled him over.

  So I made sure he stayed in bed.

  Borris made his rounds like clockwork. He always entered after knocking, a clipboard in one hand and Vol, the king viper, coiled neatly behind him. He’d scribble notes, clear his throat, and ask his string of questions.

  Once the boy's fever broke, he was a little more talkative. Though, his side of the story left Borris more than a little disappointed. To be fair, he was really out of it at that point.

  Keagan, though, was much more forgiving of Luther. He tried to talk me out of my vengeance after Borris left.

  “Just forget about him,” Keagan said.

  I shook my head. “That's not an option. He specifically told me he needs me dead. He didn't stick around or double back to check to see if I was killed. Now I have a promise to fulfill. I have to make him pay for what he did.”

  The boy lowered his head. It looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

  “Kid,” I whispered. “The Association, the rules, nobody else will hold him accountable. I left out information about him looking for Fenrir. We know where he's going—somewhat.”

  He bunched up the blankets in his hands. “You won't let those go, will you?”

  “I can't.”

  “What if Fenrir kills him? Will that be enough?” Keagan's knuckles turned white.

  I sighed. “That will honestly be worse.” The boy's eyes grew and started to tear up. “If I don't kill him, it will haunt me forever; I can feel it. With Tanner, as long as I didn't see him, my wrath could move on.”

  My sin stirred within me. “But now it won't be quiet. Every step I take, I wish his neck was under my paw. Every bite of food I wish was his heart. My dreams are filled with me chasing him down until he is ragged and begging. But his neck is never there, I never taste his heart, and I never feel the satisfaction of his death in my dreams.”

  Keagan swallowed hard. “I don't know what to say.”

  My ears went flat, and I turned away. “There's nothing to say. I have to kill him, but I can't leave you either. I promised to keep you safe.”

  My claws dug into the floor. Maybe that's the reason. Luther took the boy, and with it, my agency to fulfill my promise.

  I left. Being cooped up in a room for several days, stewing in my loathing, was only going to lead to me saying something I would regret.

  According to Borris’s final report, Luther hadn’t broken any laws. He hadn’t “kidnapped” Keagan, not officially. He’d retrieved an injured minor, provided medicine, and delivered him to safety. By the letter, he did everything right. And with not a single trace of evidence beyond my testimony linking the direwolves to either of them, there was no case to build.

  Outside Keagan’s room, the corridor had, more or less, become my territory. I’d pace it in slow steps. My claws tapped over old floorboards while my tail swayed in lazy arcs.

  Sereth called it “guard duty.” I called it “stalling.”

  Fayna and Sereth stayed nearby—partly to keep me occupied, partly to keep me out of trouble. In the afternoon, once the boy drifted back into sleep after some food, the duo would come to collect me.

  Since Keagan felt bad about his condition and that he couldn't supervise my training, he sort of hired me out to Fayna as a sparring partner for Sereth.

  We only spared the first day. It was clear she learned a lot from our match. In the end, we were far too evenly matched to say who was better.

  The next afternoon, the wyverling darted into my path, hands on her hips. “C’mon, wolf-girl. Let’s stretch those legs.”

  I grumbled and followed her out behind the inn, to the clearing beyond the stables. Fayna set up a number of empty cans as targets. She had Keagan's permission to train me while I was with them.

  The training sessions left me breathless. Noma was competitive. But for every competitive bone she had, Sereth had three. While she could accept defeat, she was never content with it. She would push for another round. Whether it was hitting targets with our magic, racing, pushing a boulder across a field, or anything else, she always wanted one more try.

  Fayna often watched from the sidelines, arms folded, with the faintest smile touching her lips.

  I would never turn Sereth down.

  It wasn’t because I was enjoying myself—I closed that part of my heart off quickly—but because it gave me something to focus on. For those few hours, I didn't concern myself with killing Luther.

  It was working until it wasn't.

  Wrath Demon Ancestry increases Power and Arcane stat gains and reduces Toughness and Resilience stat gains. Training summary: Power +17, Agility +8, Speed +21, Arcane +16, Toughness +5, Resilience +6.

  — — —

  Name: Lucia Silverbreeze

  Species: Fenris (Dire Wolf/???) [Ice Subtype]

  Level 5 [80%]

  Power: 323

  Agility: 207

  Speed: 249

  Arcane: 179

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Toughness: 131

  Resilience: 134

  — — —

  Every day, Keagan showed improvements. Yet every day I felt worse. My restlessness was becoming a problem. After a week, Fayna and Keagan had to say something.

  It was just after lunch, and I ate my food with a bit more viciousness than was called for.

  “Something is up with you,” the woman said as I cooled down. “Sitting still doesn’t suit you. This is something more. You look like someone waiting to make a bad decision.”

  “Maybe I am,” I muttered.

  “You've been training a lot lately,” the boy said softly.

  “It helps me think.”

  “Or does it help you not think?” he countered.

  I didn’t answer.

  He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself for what happened.”

  I brushed a paw against his blanket. “You’re getting better. I'm happy that you are. But you know that's not the problem.”

  He nodded, but his eyes flicked toward the corner of the room. “You still want to go after him, don’t you?”

  The words sat heavy in the air.

  I won't deny it. I can't.

  Fayna leaned forward in her seat. “At this point, I am afraid of what will happen if you and Sereth spar again. I was told you have the Wrath Demon Blood Ancestry trait. But you've always kept it well controlled. What changed?”

  I gritted my teeth. “You leave a pot of soup to boil untended for too long, and it will spill over.”

  Fayna tapped her foot. Her face was all sharp lines softened by worry she tried to hide. “Normally I would say today needs to be a rest day, but…”

  “I don't think I can willingly find rest,” I admitted. “If I could just kill him, then this will all be over.“

  “You could have killed him,” Fayna added in a low voice. “You could have hunted him down at the ridge. You crawled in bleeding and mad.”

  I snarled. “I couldn’t risk Keagan. He was in Velleigh’s arms. I couldn’t hit him and risk the boy. Before that…”

  “I told you not to,” Keagan interrupted. “So this is all my fault.”

  “No!” Fayna and I shouted simultaneously.

  “No,” I repeated. “Luther decided to kidnap you. He's the one who has to pay.”

  Fayna’s eyes narrowed on the boy. “Lucia is right. You have nothing to blame yourself for.”

  Keagan hung his head. “But now what do I do? Do I let Lucia hunt Luther down just to kill him? People can find out and label her a murderer. Then she will probably be executed. Or do I just go home and keep trying to live a normal life with her? But this moment will slowly eat at her until there's nothing left of her but wrath and vengeance.”

  “I hate both of those choices,” he said solemnly.

  She stood up, stepped to the boy's side, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I have respect for you, Keagan. You have an impossible choice with no good answer. I don't envy you, but I can only hope whatever you choose leads to a result you can live with.”

  Then she looked at me. “Don't think I haven't noticed. During your time with Sereth, you never smiled even once. You were standoffish for a reason. Thank you for sparing Sereth the heartache of getting too close. You’re dangerous in ways some people don’t realize.”

  “You have no idea,” I said.

  “I'm starting to get the idea.” Fayna headed for the door but stopped halfway. “I think it is better for everyone if you find the strength to leave. I will do what I can to find someone headed to your hometown so you can ride in a carriage or cart. Whatever you decide, go home and think it over.”

  “Thanks,” Keagan replied without turning his head to look at her.

  The woman left without another word.

  Keagan and I just sat in silence. Whatever there was to say had already been said.

  I have put the boy in a moral bind. He’s too young for decisions like this. If there were only some way I knew the boy will be protected while I’m away hunting Luther. There’s no way I can bring a kid along on my quest for vengeance. He shouldn’t go. But who can I trust with his safety?

  Fayna had been gone for only a dozen minutes before Tulip walked in carrying her tray of tea.

  Tulip was the inn's owner. She was a softer woman with an infinitely perpetual smile. She had made it her mission to make sure Keagan took his medicine and had plenty of tea to drink.

  Her braided blonde hair slipped over her shoulder as she placed the tray in the boy's lap. “Now why does it look like I just walked in on a funeral? Aren't you getting better?”

  “I am,” Keagan mumbled. “It’s just that things are complicated.”

  Tulip laughed. “That’s life, kiddo.” She pulled out an envelope from a pocket of her dress and placed it on the tray. “This came in for you.”

  The kid perked up. “A letter?” He scooped it up and analyzed it.

  “Who would be sending you a letter and know you are here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.” He ripped it open and pulled out the handwritten letter. He read for a few seconds, and the color drained from his face. “Uh, can you give us some privacy?”

  Tulip finished pouring the tea into the cup before she raised her eyebrows. “Sure. But I want you to promise me that you’ll drink all your tea while it’s hot.”

  He nodded. “I will. Your tea has always tasted really good. You always have the right amount of honey in it.”

  She ruffled his hair with a wide smile before heading out. “You should do yourself a favor and at least try to walk around some more today. Just bring the tray down with you when you’re done.”

  The woman stopped in the doorway. “If I don’t see you in an hour, I’ll get you out of that bed myself. Got it?” She gave him a wink before closing the door behind her.

  I turned to Keagan. “What does it say?”

  He held it up for me to read.

  Keagan,

  I hope this letter reaches you in better health than what I left you in. I cannot offer you explanations, only an apology. Whatever you may believe about me, know that your suffering was never part of what I intended. You have lost someone who could rise to the occasion and alter the world as we know it. No words that a man can assemble will sound anything but hollow against that absence.

  When I first met you, I saw someone so full of hope trying to make his dreams come true. You were honest, too honest perhaps, in a world that punishes such things. And now, life has punished you again. That is not fair. It is not right. And for that, I am sorry.

  I imagine your days must feel empty. The routines that once made sense—a simple meal, a walk, a conversation—are now incomplete, like a scene built for someone else. It is a terrible thing to wake and find the world continuing as if it hasn’t noticed who is missing. I know that silence. I have lived in it.

  Loss has a way of reducing anything irrelevant to your heart to dust. All that remains is the act of endurance. You choose each morning to continue breathing when you know that others can’t. It may feel like betrayal at first; you may feel anger, or you may feel nothing at all, but do not mistake either for weakness. Everyone’s grief has its own face.

  I have little to give that could soften this. But I do have someone who understands loss better than most. Her name, as you know, is Nieve. She has served me for years, and through those years, she was my one constant when the one I cared for most disappeared, stolen from me.

  Nieve has agreed to leave my service and follow yours. This is not a punishment for her nor a debt to you; it is a gift freely offered by both of us. I am transferring all official rights of partnership and training to you. Her companionship will not replace what you have lost, but she will listen, and she will stay.

  You will not be alone. She is kind in ways that words cannot express. In times like this, that is priceless.

  Do not ask her for stories about me. She will not tell them. I have asked that of her, and she has agreed. My reasons are mine to bear. Your life must move forward without the weight of my choices. I will not stain what you may still build.

  Take care of Nieve.

  I will not write again. This letter is my first and last intrusion upon your grief. Carry forward, boy. The world will not pause, but perhaps, in the company of those who remain, it will not seem so cruel.

  — Luther

  At the end I was seething. The temperature of the air in the room was steadily dropping. Keagan’s breath misted as it left his mouth as I shook from my own growling. My hackles rose and my claws dug heavy grooves into the floor as my vision turned blood red.

  “I’m going to kill him!”

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