Veyra stepped into the corridor, the weight of restless sleep still tugging at the edge of her limbs, but her focus had sharpened with the early pull of duty. The warmth of Liora's scent still clung faintly to her tunic, honey and lavender, as if it had left a trace beneath her skin. Thankfully, she noted, it wasn't strong enough that others should detect it over her own alpha pheromones.
The corridor was dim, torches lit low in their iron sconces as she moved past the soldiers posted at her door. No questions. No reports. They knew better than to disturb her now.
She passed the outer hall and made her way through the spine of Fort Dalen until she reached the secluded alcove behind the training court—where her father waited, arms crossed, the fur-lined mantle of his station wrapped tight against his shoulders. Beside him, Kellen stood with his usual stern poise, only the twitch of his fingers on the hilt of his blade betraying his concern.
"Daughter," General Halvarin greeted, voice low and steady. "You should be resting."
"I will," she said, "after this."
Kellen's eyes flicked across her face, and then away, a breath drawn through his nose. "You look like a blade's edge, Vey."
"Fitting, given the knife they put in my back."
The silence that followed was a breath held taut between them. She looked from one man to the other—her father, hard and dutiful, and Kellen, her shadow through childhood and war alike.
"I need you both to listen." She kept her voice low, in case any prying eyes or ears might be near.
She pulled a folded parchment from the inside of her vest—notes scrawled hastily during her recovery within her quarters, lines of memory pieced together from the ambush, the aftermath, the faces at the council table. Her hand was steady as she passed it to Kellen.
"These are the things that don't line up. Gaps in the escort logs. Routes changed last-minute. The supply runners—Commander Tareth's men—were the last assigned to check the ridgeline. And they were late."
Kellen skimmed the page, brow furrowing. "None of this is proof."
"I know. But it's a thread. And threads lead to knots if you pull them right."
Her father let out a breath through his nose. "You suspect one of our own." He raised one hand to the side of his chin, stroking thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed.
"I suspect someone in that chamber wants me out of the way. Maybe it's because of my position, or because I speak too often in favor of Omegas. I won't point a blade at anyone without cause, but I can't ignore this either."
"Then what do you want from us?" Kellen asked, eyes sparking with silent anger. He wouldn't be forgetting that his best friend had been thought to be lost until just days ago.
"I want the two of you to start a shadow investigation. Quiet. Nothing official. Let the Circle run their public inquiry—I want you to compare their findings against your own. Look for whatever they miss, or bury."
Kellen looked to Halvarin, whose jaw worked behind his beard like he was chewing down something hard.
"This crosses every line of protocol," the general said.
"It might save more lives in the future than mine," she replied. "And if you won't do it for me, do it because you know me. I don't make these calls lightly."
Silence again. Then Kellen folded the parchment and tucked it into his belt.
"I'll see what I can dig up," he murmured. "But you owe me for this."
"I always do."
Halvarin gave the faintest nod. Not approval—but not refusal either.
With that, Veyra stepped back, leaving them both beneath the torches. Her thoughts churned, bitter and fast. If Tareth had truly orchestrated the ambush, it would be nearly impossible to prove without witness or confession. The man was too careful. Too entrenched. But still, she would find a way.
Even if it meant unearthing the entire fort stone by stone.
She returned to her quarters not long after, slipping through the door with barely a sound. Inside, the fire still glowed low, casting a warm light against stone and shadow. And there, as she had left her—Liora sat curled on the edge of the bench with a blanket around her shoulders, book in hand, head drooping as if she'd tried to stay awake.
For a moment, Veyra just stood in the threshold, letting the tension fade with the slow rhythm of her breathing. The scent of lavender drifted faintly through the air, a softer thing than war and suspicion.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with care.
The door closed softly behind her.
Veyra exhaled into the hush of her quarters, braced by a quiet not even the fire dared to crack. It wasn't peace she felt—merely a hollow space, briefly free of judgment. Her limbs ached from walking the length of Fort Dalen and back, but it was the conversation with her father and Kellen that left the deeper bruise. Words unsaid, stubborn brows furrowed in doubt, the law weighing heavier than blood. She could still hear Kellen's voice: "This goes beyond your station, Vey. We need more than suspicion."
But suspicion was all she had.
She turned—and found the room as she'd left it.
Dim. Still. The only glow came from the hearth, where low-banked coals cast long shadows across stone and fur. In the corner, near the wall, was the narrow old cot she hadn't used since the days of her first patrols—rough-built for field deployment, its frame slightly warped. Liora had turned it into a nest.
She'd draped it with cast-off linens, padded the edges with spare bedding, and tucked her traveling pack beneath. Her own old cloak, dark wool softened by age, was curled around her like a second skin. But even beneath it, the faint shine of sweat clung to her brow.
Veyra approached in stillness, jaw tightening as she drew closer.
Too much Silence.
The suppressant Silence—illegal, but still circulated. She knew what it was, and what it did. It dulled scent receptors. Flattened hormonal spikes. Meant to mask the nature of those born scent-bound, those who couldn't afford to be found. It wasn't distributed through healers, nor condoned by any Circle member who valued their seat.
And it was never meant to be taken long-term.
It explained too much. Explained why Liora's scent had come to her in strange layers—shoe polish and oil, beneath some muted sweetness, buried under a crust of earthy musk. A Beta's disguise. But no true Beta carried that kind of softness in their bones. No Beta pulled at instinct like that.
Whispers had followed the drug for years. Healers spoke of the toll it took when misused. Organ stress. Fevers. A rising resistance that demanded more to do less. Sometimes it built until something snapped inside and the body refused to breathe in relief again. It turned the user into a ghost of their own chemistry—trapped between instinct and suppression.
And yet Liora had been using it for weeks—maybe longer. Gods, how long had she hidden like this?
Veyra pressed a knuckle against her temple, grounding herself. She stared at the heap of linens and her old cloak shaped into a makeshift nest where Liora had curled herself before. The cot was still there in the corner, like some remembered thing from their military years, but Liora had made it soft—something reclaimed and quiet.
"You stubborn thing," Veyra murmured. "You're burning yourself out."
She reached out, sliding her arms carefully beneath Liora's knees and shoulders. The girl murmured faintly in her sleep, but didn't wake. Veyra lifted her with the easy strength of one long trained for war, holding her close as she crossed the room.
The hearthside bed welcomed her like a forgotten oath—warm, familiar, real. She lowered Liora onto the furs gently, careful not to startle her. One lock of rose-gold hair fell over her temple, catching the light like the last streak of a sunlit horizon.
Veyra stared at her for a moment, then stepped back.
She had not even realized her own breath had gone shallow.
Her chest ached. Not from pain—but from something tightening beneath it.
Turning away, she moved to the desk and pulled the contingency journal from its drawer. It was bound in dark leather, marked only with a single scrawl of ink at the corner: her initials. Not a war journal. Not for commands or letters. This one was for just in case.
She wrote in long, clean lines. Everything she remembered. Every flaw in the council's story. The late riders. Tareth's control. Halvern's silence. Her father's stillness.
If I do not return, or am found injured again under suspicious means, this record is to be brought directly to Commander Halvarin, Captain Kellen Darran, and—if permitted—Miss Liora Vayne, companion under my protection…
She wrote well into the night, candle flickering beside her. When her hand finally stilled, her head ached with the weight of it all. But she didn't rise from the desk. She sat, hunched forward, eyes trailing the lines she'd written, as the sound of Liora's breathing rose and fell behind her.
The scent had grown sharper.
As the candle burned low and Liora's breathing hitched in quiet intervals, Veyra rose from the desk. Her gaze swept the lines she'd written once more, then lifted toward the bed. A faint flush was rising on Liora's cheeks, not the warmth of sleep but the kind sparked deeper—low-grade fever.
Silently, she crossed the room and touched the back of her fingers to the girl's forehead.
Too warm.
She stood still for a breath, debating, then slipped her sword belt back over her shoulder and stepped out into the corridor. The guards posted at her door straightened, but said nothing. One of them glanced at her, puzzled, but Veyra gave no word to ease the question in his eyes.
She moved through Fort Dalen like a shade—silent, certain.
The healer's quarters were kept at the south end, near the inner barracks. Lantern light flickered from the hall beyond the old apothecary room, its thick-stone shelves lined with everything from bandages to bone saws. Veyra rapped twice and entered.
Healer Armin was inside—Beta, older, sharp-eyed despite the sleepless circles beneath them. He looked up from a steaming kettle where herbs soaked in gauze netting.
"Commander," he said, startled. "You're out late."
"I need a few things," she said. "Feverweed. River root. And if you still keep detox tincture locked up—some of that, too."
His brow furrowed. "You're running one hell of a fever to need detox."
"I didn't say it was for me."
Armin hesitated. "Those are restricted doses. Illegal suppressant detoxes tend to come with bleeding side effects. The dose has to be weighed, or it risks organ failure."
"I'm not asking for a full treatment. Just enough to ease strain. Small dose. And herbs." Her voice had taken the edge of command now—sharp, clear, offering no room for refusal.
After a pause, Armin moved to the locked drawer behind his shelf. He retrieved a small sealed vial—milky green, faintly glowing—and handed it over with a bundle of wrapped herbs and a clean white cloth.
"No names, Commander?" he asked quietly, not unkindly.
"No names," she confirmed.
She left without another word.
—
Back in her quarters, the fire had dwindled to coals. Liora hadn't moved from the bed, but her breathing had grown heavier, the sweet edge of her scent pressing faintly past whatever remained of the drug in her system. Honey and lavender, sun-warmed and slightly singed, like heat drawn through a summer garden.
Veyra knelt by the bed and soaked the cloth in cool water, wringing it out with practiced care. She pressed it gently to Liora's forehead, brushing aside damp hair as she did.
The girl stirred with a soft sound, lashes fluttering.
"Don't—don't touch me—" Liora muttered faintly, trying to push herself upright.
"Stay still," Veyra said, voice low but firm. "You're overheated. You need rest."
"I—I forgot," Liora mumbled, blinking up at her. "Need to take it. I need…"
Her hand pawed weakly at the bedding, searching.
"You're not taking any more of that." Veyra caught her wrist, gently but with steel behind it. "You've pushed your body too far already."
Liora's eyes glinted, wild and unfocused. "I can't—I have to, or they'll know—"
"They already do," Veyra whispered, brushing her thumb over Liora's knuckles. "At least I do."
A silence fell between them then, broken only by the crackle of the coals. Liora's breathing eased under her hand, though the tension in her limbs had not yet gone.
"I'm not going to let you burn yourself out," Veyra said. "No matter what you're hiding."
She didn't ask for truth—not yet.
But she already knew.
Instead, she poured the faintest drop of the detox tincture into a mug and stirred it into cooled tea, raising it to Liora's lips.
"Just a sip," she said. "You don't have to trust me. Just take it."
And slowly, uncertainly, Liora drank.
- (Liora's Perspective) -
She came to slowly.
Not with the sharp start of nightmares or fear, but a thick, weighted ache that settled into every inch of her body. Her head throbbed. Her joints burned. Her skin felt raw beneath the fabric of the shift someone—Veyra—must've put her in.
The air was cool. Too cool. She shivered once and forced her eyes open.
A high ceiling blurred above her. Pale grey stone. Wooden beams. A small, high window letting in morning light that struck the far wall like a blade.
She wasn't in the barracks. Not in the healer's wing, or the prison either.
She was still in Veyra's room.
Liora blinked, slow and dazed, lips parted around dry air. Her mouth tasted wrong—bitter, as if she had inhaled smoke. Her fingers curled weakly in the covers, her palm brushing something soft. Linen. Clean.
It had been… days. She could feel it. Her body knew. Muscles slack and sore. The fever wasn't gone completely; it still simmered under her skin like the last embers of a fire, but the worst had passed.
She let out a soft breath. Her ribs ached.
Bits and pieces came back: Veyra's voice low and close. A cool cloth pressed to her forehead. A hand steadying the cup she couldn't hold. Fingers catching hers when she'd tried to stand.
"Lie still," Veyra had murmured, voice rough with sleep. "You'll hurt yourself."
Why do you care?
She hadn't asked it aloud. She was almost certain she hadn't. But maybe she had. It was hard to tell what had been said and what had simply lingered behind her teeth.
She turned her head slightly on the pillow. Movement made the world tilt, but she swallowed and endured it.
There was a small pitcher on the side table. A clean rag folded beside it. And a chair—the kind people sat in for hours. Veyra had stayed there. She hadn't left. But she wasn't here now.
Liora closed her eyes for a long moment, throat tightening.
The last thing she remembered clearly was the scent of smoke.
Her satchel. Her pills. The only thing keeping her safe. Keeping her hidden.
Gone.
She didn't even know if she'd screamed when Veyra had burned them.
Her jaw ached from where she must've clenched it in fevered sleep. Her tongue felt too thick. Her scent—faint as it was now—still lingered in the room. She could tell. It made her want to crawl out of her own skin.
And yet Veyra had stayed.
Why?
A soft knock came. The door creaked open.
Liora flinched slightly, breath hitching, and tried to push herself upright. Her arms shook. The blanket slipped down her shoulder.
Veyra stepped in with a basin in her hands. She paused when she saw Liora awake.
"You're up," she said, quiet. Neutral. No triumph. No cold satisfaction. Just tired relief and something close to… concern?
Liora managed a rasped, "Barely."
Veyra crossed to her side and set the basin down. "The fever's broken."
"Lucky me…"
"You were out for two days."
Liora winced. "It Felt… longer."
"It could have taken longer," Veyra murmured. "But I used a dose of detox." She picked up the rag and dipped it into the water, wrung it out slowly, then sat on the edge of the bed and touched it to Liora's forehead.
Liora flinched, but the cloth was cool. Gentle.
"You burned them," she said hoarsely. Not a question.
"Yes."
"I needed them."
"You don't need them here."
Liora turned her head away, shame flooding through her even as the pain pressed in. "You had no right."
"No," Veyra said. "I didn't."
There was a pause. Liora felt the cloth lift, then return—soft and steady against her temple. She wanted to fight it. Wanted to snarl something sharp.
But all she could whisper was, "I feel like I'm going to burn up from the inside."
"You're not. You won't."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand enough."
Liora turned her face fully then, her copper eyes searching Veyra's. "You should've left me alone."
Veyra looked at her for a long moment. "I didn't want to."
Silence bloomed between them. This time, not the kind made of peace.
It felt strained; dangerous.
"You'll be questioned," Liora said, eyes flickering shut again. "For harboring someone like me."
"I'll handle it."
"I'm not worth it," she whispered.
"That's not your choice to make." Veyra's voice became sharper in that one line, her gray eyes narrowed.
Liora's breath hitched in her throat. Something behind her ribs cracked open and trembled, but she turned away again before it could show.
"Don't do that," she muttered.
"Do what?"
"Sound like you care."
Another pause. Then, soft and steady: "Too late for that."
A knock came again, more deliberate this time.
Veyra rose immediately, setting the cloth aside. Her eyes lingered on Liora for half a breath longer—something unreadable in them—before she turned toward the door.
"Enter," she said.
A slender, middle-aged Beta stepped in, his features sharp but unassuming. His healer's robes were clean but worn, the edges fraying slightly near the cuffs. A satchel hung from his shoulder. He gave a respectful nod to Veyra and didn't so much as glance at Liora until he was fully inside and the door had shut behind him.
"Commander," he said quietly. "As you asked."
Veyra gestured him over with a tilt of her head. "She's stable. Fever broke in the night. I want confirmation on internal strain. And no word of this leaves this room."
The healer gave a brisk nod. "Understood. I've said nothing. Records remain sealed."
He approached the bedside with a measured calm, crouching to open his satchel. Liora tensed as he drew out a small vial and unrolled a length of soft cloth that held delicate instruments—tweezers, fine probes, narrow-bladed scissors, and small glass containers for tinctures.
"Do I have your permission to examine you?" he asked gently, eyes meeting hers for the first time.
Liora hesitated.
"You're not under detainment," he added before she could speak. "And I am under her orders." He inclined his head faintly toward Veyra. "But only yours will permit me to lay a hand on you."
Liora swallowed. Her throat still burned. But she gave a small nod. It was not expected nor common for someone to ask a person of her position—an omega—for permission to do anything. This man was one of Veyra's personal faction.
"Thank you," he said, already preparing a small salve. "I'll be quick."
His hands were cool and efficient, brushing her skin only where necessary. He checked her pulse with two fingers pressed to her wrist. Touched her forehead. Pressed gently at the base of her throat. All without comment.
"Any sharp pain?" he asked, placing a few drops of tincture on her tongue without waiting for her to protest. It was bitter as bark.
"Everywhere," she rasped.
His lips twitched in a dry sort of sympathy. "Expected. You've overexerted the endocrine centers."
"She used something… a suppresant. Silence, I believe," Veyra said from behind him, her tone stiff. "Too long. Too strong."
The healer nodded slowly. "I suspected as much." He turned back to Liora. "You're fortunate. No rupture in the deeper tissue channels. Your fever was the worst of it. But your immune function is taxed, and your scent gland will be… unstable. You'll be hypersensitive to strong markers for a few days."
Liora turned her face away.
"She needs a detox blend," Veyra said. "You said it would clean out what's left in her bloodstream."
"Yes. It'll be slow. Gentle. Better for the strain on her system." The healer reached again into his satchel and handed Veyra a pouch. "Steep this. Twice a day. It will dull the side effects without damaging scent production further."
"Thank you, Malen," Veyra said.
The healer gave a quiet smile. "You know you don't need to thank me. I'm happy to serve in your ranks."
He turned back to Liora once more. "Drink water. Sleep more than you think you need. And if you feel your hearing start to dull or your limbs seize again, send word immediately."
Liora nodded faintly. Her head was spinning again. But she forced out a soft, "Thank you."
He only nodded. "Get well."
And with that, he packed his tools, gave Veyra a final glance that carried the weight of unspoken loyalty, and slipped back out the door without another sound.
The door shut gently behind the healer.
Liora's eyes remained fixed on the heavy grain of the wooden beams above her, the low ceiling mottled with shadow.
She felt Veyra's presence still at her side, not speaking, not moving—only watching.
The scent of crushed herbs lingered faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Beneath it, something warmer. Pine. Spice.
She could feel Veyra's gaze. Not searing, not harsh—just… there. And somehow it made her throat feel tighter than before.
Liora shifted against the pillow, the movement making her stomach lurch. She pressed her lips together, trying to will away the prickling heat behind her eyes.
"You should drink some of this," Veyra said softly. "It's warm enough now."
Liora turned her head slightly, enough to see the clay cup held loosely in the Alpha's fingers. She didn't reach for it.
"I will." Her voice came out small, dull, and without commitment. She didn't meet Veyra's eyes.
A pause.
"I'll leave it here," Veyra murmured after a beat, setting the cup on the low table beside the bed. "It's bitter. But it'll help."
Liora gave a nod that barely moved her head. Her gaze drifted again, skimming past the cup, past Veyra's shadow.
"I need to stretch my legs," Veyra said then, standing. Her voice was still quiet, unreadable. "Get some movement back in. The cuts are closing fast enough."
Another pause. One where she clearly debated saying more.
But in the end, she didn't.
She only pulled her hair into a short knot at the nape of her neck and moved toward the door with a measured stride. Her boots made a soft thud against the stone floor as she passed.
"I'll be in the training yard for a while," she said, one hand already on the doorframe. "If you need anything… tell the guard. They'll find me."
Liora nodded again, but didn't speak.
And Veyra left.
The door shut behind her with a muted sound, not quite final, not quite gentle either. Just a closing.
The silence that followed was softer than before, not oppressive, just thick with the weight of unspoken things.
Liora exhaled, letting her eyes slip closed again, though her mind stayed awake—adrift in pieces of scent and fragments of remembered words, in memories of cloth pressed to her forehead and fingers brushing her wrist in the dark.
Two nights.
Maybe three.
And still, she didn't understand the shape of what had passed between them.
Only that something had shifted.
And she wasn't ready to look at it yet.
Outside, Fort Dalen stirred with distant movement—steel clashing in rhythm, orders echoing faintly across stone. But inside, the quiet held. Liora lay still beneath the blankets, the bitter taste of herbs lingering on her tongue and the warmth Veyra left behind clinging faintly to the air.
She didn't know what to make of any of it—of kindness given without reason, of eyes that softened when they should have narrowed, of care that didn't demand a name in return.
The fever still simmered low in her limbs, but something colder had begun to surface in its place. Not fear exactly, and not trust either. Just the ache of knowing she couldn't stay unseen forever.
The cup sat untouched beside her.
The door remained closed.
She reached over with a slow movement to pick up the cup, and brought it to her lips.