The medical station felt different when I returned that morning–tighter somehow, the air charged with a tension I couldn’t quite name. Kieran stood near the main entrance in casual conversation with one of Dr. Hawthorne’s assistants, but his posture was pure sentinel, his eyes tracking movement with the sharp focus of someone expecting trouble. Two additional guards I didn’t recognize had taken up positions along the perimeter path, their presence subtle enough not to alarm patients but obvious enough that anyone watching would understand the station was now under protection.
Mira caught up with me before I’d made it three steps past the doorway, her expression caught somewhere between worry and curiosity as she fell into step beside me, her hand finding my elbow with that casual familiarity I’d come to treasure. Alright, what’s going on?” she asked, keeping her voice low enough not to carry.
“Kieran showed up yesterday like he’s expecting an invasion, there are strange wolves patrolling the grounds.” She paused, studying my face with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. “And you’re wearing that look–the one that says something serious happened but you’re trying very hard to pretend everything’s fine.”
I glanced around, confirming we had relative privacy in this corner of the corridor, then guided her toward one of the empty treatment rooms where we could speak without being overheard. The moment the door closed behind us, I felt the weight of what I needed to tell her settle across my shoulders, the careful balance between honesty and discretion making my words come slowly, each one chosen with surgical precision.
She nodded slowly, her natural exuberance dampened by the gravity of what I’d revealed, but I saw the moment he

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