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 warmth filled the air.
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, and fever tugged at her limbs. 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.
He didn't look like a prison guard.
"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."
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.
"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," Elias said. "Shadowclaw is many things, but we don't torture unconscious girls for sport."
She blinked, her heart racing as the truth finally caught up to her.
"How am I here?" she asked.
Elias moved with practiced certainty, pouring something from a kettle into a carved wooden cup. Steam curled upward in pale tendrils.
"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 held the cup out to her. "Drink."
Nova stared at it with open suspicion, then lifted her gaze back to him. His eyes were kind, but not soft enough to be false. It unsettled her more than hostility would have. She took a careful breath, the air scraping her throat.
"I…" Her voice rasped, almost breaking. "Thank you. That is… kind of you."
Nova's fingers trembled against the warm wood as she took the cup.
"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."
"I'm a healer, not your interrogator," he said. "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 a cautious sip. Bitter. Green. Alive. It tasted like wild roots and burnt air.
And it helped. Almost immediately, the burning in her chest eased.
"But why me?" she pressed, 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. 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 — 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. She 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 trademark bedside manner, which was to say, none at all.
"You look terrible. Still. Marginally less corpse-like than earlier, but terrible."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
"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."
The next time she woke, it was dusk. Then morning. Then evening again.
Her consciousness rose and fell like tides she could not command. She dreamed of strange voices. 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 to 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 her own.
Elias was already there. 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. 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.
Clean clothes were folded into a neat bundle on a stool beside the bed.
A knock sounded at the door.
Nova froze, instinctively clutching the clothes to her chest. She didn't know why the sound unsettled her so deeply, only that it did.
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman stepped inside.
Elias glanced at Nova, then back to the woman. "This is Mary Caldus, Chief Steward and Head of Omegas of Shadowclaw Castle. She will take you."
Mary inclined her head. Her gaze swept over Nova with quiet assessment.
Nova returned the nod and swallowed.
Before she followed Mary, Nova turned back to Elias. Her voice came out soft, frayed at the edges, but steady.
"My gratitude to you, Elias. 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, as if committing her sincerity to a private ledger he would never admit to keeping.
He inclined his head, a small but weighted gesture, the faintest shadow of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"That's unnecessary," he said quietly. "But noted."
Nova bowed her head once, gathered her courage, and turned to follow Mary Caldus into the stone halls.