I turned and walked back to my courtyard. Without a word, I dropped to my knees and began digging through the soil beneath the spirit-blossom tree with my bare hands. The earth was cold. It smelled of mountain sage and old pine, and something underneath that, something that smelled like safety itself. My master's scent, soaked into the roots.

Before long, a short blade caked in dirt saw daylight again. The air around it held no scent at all. A void where scent should be, unsettling in a way that made the Matron flinch back before she caught herself.

She rushed after me and snatched the blade from my grip, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Lynara, I know you want to avenge your master."

"But Fenris Voss is a Primordial Alpha. With this unremarkable little blade, you cannot defeat him."

"Please don't throw your life away for nothing."

"Your master said it himself. Trading one life for the future of every ranked wolf in the pack was worth it."

But I knew Master was lying.

One look at the wreckage strewn across the Dawnveil territory told the whole story. The moment Fenris Voss killed him, every last pack member had followed the Supreme Alpha away without hesitation. Their scent trails led outward, all of them, not a single one circling back.

Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.

For a pack of wolves that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?

Faced with my silence, the Matron's eyes grew redder still.

But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile. I could smell the salt on her, dried lavender and hearth-smoke and beneath it all, the faint undercurrent of tears that never fully dried.

"Lynara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."

Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.

"Lynara, our Dawnveil Pack is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."

"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."

"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."

I reached out and touched the dried blood crusted on the side of the pot. My face showed nothing. "Was Master making me soup when he died?"

The Matron's hands trembled. Her voice cracked further.