I turned at Garrick's words, my fingers tightening around the leather-bound book.
"You may need your mate sooner than you expect."
There was something beneath his voice—low and deliberate—like he knew more than he was letting on. A warning cloaked in care. A thread meant to pull at my already tangled thoughts.
My chest tightened. I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak, and stepped out of the tent.
The air outside was sharp, laced with woodsmoke and cold pine. The fire pits scattered across the camp crackled to life, casting long shadows between the tents. Somewhere nearby, children laughed. A dog barked. And for a brief, disoriented moment, it almost felt like peace.
But that one sentence wouldn't leave me.
You may need your mate.
I clutched the book to my chest, the pendant beneath my shirt warm against my skin, like it had fused to me—become a part of my heartbeat.
