THE LETTER
Selene's POV
I waited until the packhouse went quiet.
Not fully quiet — a pack never fully sleeps, there were always the border watch and the kitchen's early risers and Felix's particular habit of working through the night when something interested him. But quiet enough. The hour when the packhouse breathed slower, when the corridors held more shadow than light, when I could sit in our quarters with the door closed and know that whatever I felt on my face in the next hour would be mine alone to feel.
Damon had offered to stay.
I had told him no — gently, but clearly. This was not a rejection of him. It was the same thing I'd told Maren in the garden. Some doors needed to be walked through alone, even when love was waiting on the other side of them.
He had understood. Kissed my forehead. Told me he'd be in the tactical room if I needed him, which meant: *close, but not crowding. Available, but not assuming.*
I set the box on the small table by the window. Opened it.
