Meanwhile, Stan looked at Camilla.
He was, if he was being honest, a small amount disappointed. He had wanted to be the one to end the werewolf. The pack leader was, in a very specific and personal sense, 'his' — the being who had dragged Stan's face across this same polar ice, and had cut open his abdomen, and had spoken to him like meat. Stan had, at some point in the past twelve hours, been quietly looking forward to being the one whose hand ended him.
Camilla caught his gaze.
She looked briefly away.
"What," she said with a small, defensive scoff. "He is still alive. Even with his head cut off, it will take some time for him to actually die. If you want the honor of finishing him, you still can. I was simply... silencing him. He was being loud."
Stan let out a small, dry breath.
