Waking up felt like drowning in moonlight.
Nova blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to pale stone ceilings and soft lamplight. The scent of herbs, steam, and something earthy filled the air — not blood, not mold, not iron.
Warmth.
She wasn't in the tower.
The realization hit harder than any blow.
She lurched upright in the bed, panic ripping through her chest. Her ribs screamed, her wrists burned, fever tugged at her limbs — and she crumpled back down with a choked gasp.
A man's voice came from her left, warm but very much done with nonsense.
"Easy. You're safe. Or safer than you were, which is a low bar, but still."
Nova turned her head.
A man sat beside the bed, reading by the glow of a crystal lamp. Middle-aged, silver streaking through dark hair. Calm, sharp eyes. Tattoos in ancient script coiled down his neck — deliberate, controlled markings.
He didn't look like a prison guard.
Or like he cared enough to pretend to be one.
"I'm Elias," he said, closing the book with the weary precision of someone who hated being interrupted but accepted misery as part of his profession.
"Doctor Elias Quell. Licensed healer for the Shadowclaw Pack. Congratulations — you're not dead. Yet."
Nova stared, breath trembling. Her voice scraped like sandpaper.
"You're not… Ashbane."
Elias snorted, not bothering to hide his contempt.
"Thank the gods. If I worked for Ashbane, I'd have thrown myself off a tower years ago. Now lie still — you've managed to injure every part of yourself except, miraculously, your sense of panic."
He reached for a vial, muttering mostly to himself:
"And people say my job isn't rewarding."
Then he glanced at her again — this time, sharper. Diagnosing.
Seeing too much.
"Relax," he said. "If we wanted to kill you, we wouldn't have bothered fixing you first. Efficiency matters."
He gestured at her wrists.
"Those silver burns are severe. Whoever put you in those cuffs either hates you or is clinically stupid. Possibly both."
Her breath hitched. His tone didn't soften.
"Don't worry. You're not back there. Shadowclaw is many things, but we don't torture unconscious girls for sport."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Now. Since you're awake, try not to pass out again. I prefer my patients conscious — it cuts down on my workload and your dramatic gasping."
He raised a brow.
"Welcome to Shadowclaw, Nova."
She blinked hard. The world wavered at the edges. Her heart beat faster, too fast, as if trying to outrun the truth.
"How am I here?" she asked, fear sweeping through her system so abruptly she felt it behind her eyes.
Elias didn't flinch. Didn't soothe. Didn't pity. He simply moved with practiced certainty, pouring something from a kettle into a carved wooden cup. Steam curled upward in pale tendrils, carrying the scent of crushed herbs and something faintly metallic.
"You were found unconscious," he said. "Cuffed in silver. Your wolf was weakening fast. If you'd stayed in that tower another day, we'd be having this conversation in the spirit realm."
He offered her the cup. "Drink."
Nova stared at it with open suspicion, then lifted her gaze back to him. His eyes were kind. Not gentle enough to be patronizing, not soft enough to be false, but genuinely kind. It unsettled her more than hostility would have. She took a deep breath, the air scraping her throat.
"I…" Her voice rasped, almost breaking. "Thank you. That is… kind of you."
A breath, shaky. "Why are you helping me?"
Elias held her gaze, his expression unreadable, almost scholarly in the way he assessed her, as if cataloguing every tremble in her fingers and every shiver in her voice. His hair was dark, tied loosely at the nape, his jaw shadowed, his presence steady in a way that made the room feel less like it was swaying.
"Because," he said, voice low and deliberate, "someone put their hands on you. Someone marked you in silver. And in Shadowclaw, we don't leave a wounded creature to rot because another pack was too stupid or too cruel to keep hold of their own."
Nova held the cup, fingers trembling against the warm wood. The steam curled between them, carrying the sharp bite of herbs and something sweeter beneath it. Her head throbbed. Her vision wavered. But even through the fog, she could see him clearly.
His kindness made her uneasy.
"Shadowclaw doesn't know who I am," she whispered, voice cracking as the words scraped their way out. "You don't know what I've done. What I left behind."
Elias leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the movement slow, deliberate, meant not to spook her. "I'm a healer, not your interrogator. My work is simple. Someone was dying. I stopped the dying."
Nova swallowed, her throat raw. The cup's heat bled into her palms, grounding her. Her pulse still raced, but the room stopped tilting.
She took the cup and sipped. Bitter. Green. Alive. It tasted like wild roots and burnt air.
And it helped. Almost instantly, the burning in her chest eased.
"But why me?" she pressed, the fear still prickling under her skin. "You said someone cuffed me. You don't know if I'm dangerous."
Elias snorted and gave her the flattest look she had ever seen.
"Everyone in this castle is dangerous," he said. "Including me. Especially me."
He gave an unimpressed flick of his gaze over her trembling arms and thin shoulders.
"And right now, you're about as threatening as a half-drowned kitten. Drink before you pass out again. It's tedious."
Despite the fear clinging to her ribs, Nova felt her lips twitch. A soft, accidental laugh slipped out — breath-thin, fragile — but real.
Elias raised a brow.
"Good. Humor. That means the fever's dropping. Or you're delirious. We'll find out shortly."
Nova sank back against the pillows, exhausted and oddly safe.
Nova lifted the cup again, inhaling the warm steam. When she looked back up, Elias was still watching her — steady, gentle, as if making sure she didn't slip away.
"What's your name?" he asked, though his expression made it clear he already suspected the answer.
"Nova Moonveil, sir," she murmured.
He nodded slowly. "You're a year younger than Meredith, correct?"
"Yes, sir. I'm seventeen."
Elias studied her in silence — the hollow exhaustion under her eyes, the bruising along her jaw, the way her shoulders still tightened as if preparing for the next blow even here, in a quiet room with clean air and warm light.
When he finally spoke, it was with Elias's signature bedside charm — which was to say, none at all.
"You look terrible," he said. "Still. Marginally less corpse-like than earlier, but terrible."
A beat.
"That was a medical observation, not an insult. Mostly."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
He continued, voice dry but not unkind.
"Better you sleep again before your body decides to collapse without consulting you. Saves me paperwork."
Nova nodded, the motion slow, her hair brushing the pillow. She tried to fight the heaviness tugging at her eyes, but warmth and exhaustion slipped through her defenses like a tide.
Her fingers loosened around the cup.
Her breathing slowed.
Elias reached over and gently took it from her hand, muttering under his breath, "Yes, sleep. It's the only thing you're doing competently right now."
Nova's eyes finally closed.
And for the first time in years, her sleep came without screaming.
The next time she woke, it was dusk.
Then morning.
Then evening again.
Her consciousness rose and fell like tides she couldn't control. She dreamed of strange voices. Of hands on her skin that didn't hurt. Of a man's face she could almost see but never reach. Of a black wolf who watched her with eyes she somehow trusted. Of a golden dragon who already knew her name. Of a waterfall spilling into a sapphire lake, calling her as though it remembered her.
By the fourth waking, she pushed herself upright. Her limbs trembled, but they obeyed. She stood on unsteady feet, breath shallow but hers.
Elias was already there.
He appeared as if he'd never left. Clean clothes folded in a neat bundle rested on a stool beside the bed. He didn't look up right away, just reached for her wrist with clinical efficiency and checked her pulse.
"You're stronger," he said. "Still not fully healed. The silver poison lingers. It's inconvenient, but not terminal."
Nova nodded, unsure whether the reassurance was comforting or terrifying.
"I'll need you to check in every morning," he continued. "You'll drink an herbal infusion daily until your wolf stabilizes. Do not skip it unless you enjoy fevers and hallucinations."
Nova swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Elias finally met her eyes. "Good. Compliance. Refreshing."
Her lips twitched before she could stop them.
"Where am I going?" she asked quietly.
Elias handed her the clothes. "You've been assigned Omega housing."
The air left her lungs in a shaky rush. Relief flooded her. No tower. No chains. No darkness waiting with teeth bared.
Thank the gods.
A knock sounded at the door.
Nova froze, clutching the folded clothes to her chest. Elias didn't move, didn't startle, simply tilted his head, listening like someone cataloguing sound as data.
The Head Omega, Mary Caldus, stepped into view beyond the threshold — a broad, steady woman with lines of exhaustion carved into her face and kindness softened into caution. Nova had seen her type only in stories. People who worked. People who lived. People not raised in gilded cages.
Before Nova followed her, she turned back to Elias.
She wasn't sure why.
Only that she needed to.
Her voice came out soft, frayed at the edges, but steady.
"My gratitude to you, Elias," she murmured. "I had accepted my fate. Yet you tended to me when I could offer nothing in return. I… I owe you more than words."
Elias paused.
Not in shock.
In calculation — as if committing her sincerity to some private ledger he would never admit to keeping.
He inclined his head, a small gesture but weighted, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not warm. Not pitying. Just… acknowledging.
"That's unnecessary," he said quietly. "But noted."
He didn't elaborate.
He didn't reassure.
He didn't dismiss her either.
His silence was a steadying thing.
Nova bowed her head once, gathered her courage, and turned to follow Mary Caldus into the stone halls.