Lyra had never eaten in silence before.
Meals in her old Pack had always been loud—shouting, laughter that cut like knives, orders barked across long tables. Silence there meant punishment was coming.
Here, the quiet felt… different.
She sat stiffly at the long wooden table in the smaller dining chamber Kael had chosen—not the great hall. A bowl of stew steamed in front of her, untouched. She kept her hands folded in her lap, spine straight, eyes lowered just enough to be polite.
Across from her, Kael watched her carefully.
"You can eat," he said gently. "No one will take it from you."
Lyra nodded immediately. "Yes. Thank you."
She picked up the spoon too quickly, almost spilling the stew. Kael noticed the way her hands trembled.
"You don't have to rush," he added. "There's more if you want."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "More?" she echoed, genuinely surprised.
"Yes."
"For… me?"
Kael blinked once. "Yes, Lyra. For you."
She stared at the bowl like it might vanish if she looked too long. Slowly, she took a small spoonful, then another. Her shoulders loosened by a fraction.
"It's good," she said softly, then seemed startled she'd spoken aloud. "I mean—thank you. I didn't mean—"
"It's all right," Kael said, a faint smile touching his mouth. "You're allowed to like things."
She considered that seriously. "I am?"
"Yes."
Lyra nodded, absorbing this as fact, the way a child accepted the rules of a new world.
A presence stirred beyond the doorway.
Lyra felt it before she saw it—a pressure in the air, like eyes pressing against her skin. Her spoon paused halfway to her mouth.
"Kael?" she whispered.
He straightened instantly. "What do you feel?"
"Someone's… looking," she said uncertainly. "I think. I don't know how I know."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Stay here."
He moved to the door and opened it.
Three elders stood in the corridor—two men and one woman, all gray-haired, all sharp-eyed. Their gazes slid past Kael and landed on Lyra like claws.
"So it's true," the woman said coolly. "You brought a rogue into the Pack house."
Lyra stood so fast her chair scraped loudly. "I—I can leave," she said quickly, panic flaring. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I'll go, I promise."
Kael turned slowly.
"No," he said.
The word was quiet. Absolute.
"She stays," he continued. "And she is not a rogue. She is my guest."
The elders exchanged looks.
"She crossed our borders illegally," one of the men said. "That alone—"
"She collapsed in my territory," Kael cut in. "Half-dead. I will not punish someone for surviving."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "And the power we felt? You felt it too, Alpha. Don't insult us."
Lyra's chest tightened. She clasped her hands together, guilt flooding her face. "I'm sorry," she said earnestly. "I don't mean to be dangerous. I really try not to be."
The elders paused.
Kael glanced back at her, surprised.
"You don't have to apologize," he said firmly.
"But I should," Lyra insisted, voice small. "If I'm bad, I should say sorry. That's how it works."
Something dark flickered across Kael's face.
"That is not how it works here," he said.
The elders watched the exchange closely now.
"She's young," the woman murmured. "And untrained."
"And frightened," Kael replied. "Which tells me enough about where she came from."
Silence stretched.
Finally, the elder man sighed. "We will observe," he said. "But know this, Alpha—if she loses control, the Pack will demand action."
Kael's eyes flashed silver. "Then pray she never has reason to."
The elders turned and left.
Lyra stood frozen, heart pounding. When the corridor was empty again, she looked at Kael with wide, worried eyes.
"Are they angry because of me?"
"They're cautious," Kael said. "That's different."
"Oh," she said, then hesitated. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She relaxed visibly at that, trusting his answer without question.
Kael watched her for a long moment.
That innocence—so unguarded, so easily given—was more dangerous than any enemy Alpha.
And he would burn the world before letting it be taken from her again.