Kaela's POV
The wolves don't shift back right away. They stay in their animal forms, circling me slow and measured while I stand frozen in what's left of my bonding dress. Torn fabric hangs around my legs. Dirt covers everything.
One of them shifts. Shoulders widen first, then the rest follows. A man appears, older maybe, with a scar down his left shoulder that looks like it has a story. A bad one.
"You're on Ashford land," he says. His voice is rough like gravel. "Who sent you?"
I should lie. I know I should lie. But my brain feels like it's moving through water.
"Nobody sent me," I tell him. "I got lost."
The second man shifts. He's younger, bigger, with marks on his chest that look like pack rankings. His mouth curves up at my answer and he laughs like I just told him the funniest thing he's heard all week.
"Lost," he repeats, shaking his head. "Girl, you're wearing a bonding dress in enemy territory. That's not lost. That's stupid or desperate, and I'm betting on both."
My wolf bristles inside me but my body just stands there. The numbness from the ceremony is still wrapped around me like a blanket. Nothing hurts as much as it should.
The third man shifts and he's older than both of them. Scarred too. They all are. These are warriors. I can see it in how they move, how they watch me like I'm something that might explode.
"We need to take her in," the oldest one says. He doesn't sound mean about it. Just like he's stating a fact. "Our orders are orders. Nobody crosses into our territory without an explanation."
The one who laughed produces zip ties from his pocket. For a second I think about running. My legs are faster than they look. I could make it maybe ten feet before they catch me.
I don't run.
He pulls my arms behind my back and wraps the ties around my wrists. Not rough. Not cruel. Just firm. Done like he's done this a hundred times before. The plastic bites into my skin but it doesn't hurt enough to matter.
"Come on," the youngest one says, and they start walking.
I follow because what else am I going to do. The compound is maybe a quarter mile through the trees, and the closer we get, the more real it becomes. Lights in the distance. Real buildings. Not the polished glass and marble of Ironveil but something harder. Something built to last.
The compound grows bigger as we walk. Rough stone buildings. Walls made to keep things in or keep things out. Training grounds with practice dummies torn to shreds. This is a fortress. This is a war camp.
The warriors bring me through a side entrance. Nobody stops them. Nobody even looks surprised to see a girl in a torn bonding dress being walked through with zip-tied hands.
They take me to a small room with one window and a chair. The oldest one tells me to wait and they leave. The door locks behind them with a sound that feels final.
I sit down because my legs finally give out.
The room is bare. Just the chair and a small table and a bathroom in the corner. No way out except the door they locked. I look down at my hands. They're shaking again. Everything hurts now. The numbness is wearing off and everything that happened tonight is settling in like a stone in my chest.
Riven didn't want me.
My mother looked at the floor.
I ran into enemy territory.
I am now zip-tied in a room in Ashford compound and nobody knows where I am.
These are facts. I sit with them because I don't know what else to do.
Time moves weird when you're waiting. Could be minutes. Could be hours. I think about the bonding dress. I think about how my grandmother's earrings are still probably on the floor of that ceremony hall. I think about whether Riven feels anything now that I'm gone or if he's too busy being happy with Petra to care.
The door opens.
I look up expecting one of the warriors who brought me here. Instead it's someone else entirely.
He's tall. His shoulders fill the doorway before the rest of him follows. He's wearing dark clothes, nothing fancy, just practical. His hair is dark. His eyes are darker. And when he looks at me, it's like being seen for the first time in my life.
It's terrifying.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him. He doesn't sit. He just stands there looking at me like he's trying to read something written on my skin.
"Who are you?" I ask, which is stupid because I already know who this probably is. The way he moves. The way the warriors brought me straight to him. The way he's looking at me like I'm a problem he needs to solve.
He doesn't answer my question. Instead, he looks at my wrists where the zip ties are still cutting into my skin. Then he looks at the shredded bonding dress. Then he looks back at my face.
"What are you running from?" he asks.
The question is so simple and so direct that I almost laugh. Or cry. Maybe both at the same time.
I want to lie. I want to make up some story about getting lost or taking a wrong turn. But something about the way he's looking at me makes lying feel pointless. Like he'd know anyway.
So I tell him the truth.
"A man who doesn't want me," I say. My voice sounds small in the room. "A pack that didn't fight for me. And a life that I can't go back to."
He doesn't move. Doesn't react. Just watches me with those dark eyes like he's memorizing every word.
"My name is Zane Ashford," he says finally. "And you just ran straight into the territory of the man whose pack is at war with yours."
The air in the room feels like it's stopped moving.
"You know who I am," he continues, stepping closer. Not threatening. Just closer. "You know what it means that you're here. So I need to know what it means that you came."
I look up at him. I should be afraid. I should be calculating how to escape or what to say to save myself. But something in the way he asked that question, like he actually wants to know, breaks something open in my chest.
"I didn't know where I was going," I tell him. "I just knew I couldn't stay."
For the first time, something changes in his expression. It's subtle. Just a slight softening around his eyes. Like maybe he understands more than I thought.
He reaches behind me and I tense, thinking he's going to hurt me. Instead, his fingers find the zip ties. He cuts them with a knife he pulled from his boot. The plastic falls away and my hands are free. The marks on my wrists are already turning dark.
He looks at those marks like they personally offended him.
"Pack custom says I have to offer you shelter for one night," he says. "No more. Tomorrow you can leave if you want to. But tonight, you don't have to keep running."
It's the gentlest thing anyone has said to me in hours. Maybe in months.
"Why would you help me?" I ask.
He turns toward the door and pauses with his hand on the frame.
"I haven't decided yet," he says, and there's something in his voice that sounds almost like a threat.
Or maybe a promise.
"Someone will bring you food in an hour. There's a bathroom attached to this room. Try anything stupid and the decision about your fate gets made very quickly. Understand?"
I nod because I don't know what else to do.
He leaves.
I sit alone in the small room with my heart beating too fast and my wrists still aching and the realization that I've just made everything so much worse.
Or maybe I've just made it better.
I don't know yet.