Grimridge did not erupt after the attack.
It tightened.
Word spread quickly through the pack house, not as panic but as controlled fury. South Hollow had crossed a line that was not ambiguous, and the clearing near the southern storehouse became proof of what happened when ambition outran intelligence.
Sable did not allow herself to be hidden. That was the first decision she made.
The healer worked in the upper chamber, hands steady as she rewrapped Sable's ribs and examined the deep bruising along her side. The net had cut into her skin, leaving angry marks across her shoulders and arms, and her jaw was swollen where the leader's fist had landed.
"You should rest," the healer murmured.
"I will," Sable replied calmly.
But she did not stay in bed. She walked. Not easily, not without pain, but visibly. When she stepped into the main hall that evening, conversations quieted for half a breath before resuming. Not in pity. Not in doubt. In acknowledgment.
