By the time dawn crept through Damien's window, his magic core had replenished all that had been consumed during his previous battle, and even produced a surplus. His body, tempered through countless fights, did not need the full night, but it had taken it anyway.
And so, when the knock came, Damien surfaced from sleep like someone easefully swimming upward from warm water.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He opened his eyes.
Fenrir stirred immediately, lifting its head at the sound. Luton rolled once, wobbling into a more alert position.
"Come in," Damien said, still half-seated on the bed.
The door creaked open.
A young woman stood in the doorway, one of the soldiers from Haldric's unit. The one who had fought near the front even when fear had been choking her. Damien remembered her. Not because she had done anything extraordinary, but because she had refused to run.
