They found shelter in a forgotten hunter's cabin deep in the woods. The small wooden building was dusty but safe—hidden by ancient magic that Tobias said would mask their scent from both the pack and the skin-walkers.
"Rest while you can," Kael ordered, securing the door behind them. "We move again at nightfall."
Elara sank onto a worn couch, her body aching from their escape. The cabin had only one room with a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and two doors that led to a bathroom and bedroom.
"Let me check those bruises," Tobias said, examining the dark marks on her neck where the skin-walker prince had grabbed her.
While he worked, Ronan paced by the windows, his eyes still flashing red whenever he looked at her injuries. The Dire Wolf rage hadn't fully left him.
Darian sat quietly in a corner, watching them all with curious eyes. Despite eighteen years of captivity, he seemed calm—thoughtful in a way that reminded Elara of Kael, but with a gentleness the eldest triplet often lacked.
