Days had blurred into a tentative rhythm since the arena's bloodied sands, my injuries healing slow but stubborn—cracked ribs knitting fragile under fresh linen wraps, the swollen black eye cracking open to bruised hazel slits, busted lips scabbing pink, vision clearing hazy but serviceable through herbal drips.
I could walk properly now without the world tilting like a storm-tossed deck, steps steady on cool flagstones despite the lingering ache gnawing my petite frame. Elaine had been... taking care of me.
Almost behaving good, her hands gentle where once they'd pinned cruel—fetching trays, adjusting pillows, even brushing sweat-damp silver strands from my forehead in the fever nights.
Her eyes softened watching me, blonde braid swaying as she moved like a shadow turned guardian.
But confusion churned constant in my gut—alphas didn't change without schemes, and trust was a blade I'd sheathed long ago. What game now? Lull me soft, then strike?
