The scent of dried sage and crushed lavender clung to the walls of the infirmary, mingling with the sharper tang of alcohol and salves. Morning sunlight filtered in through the high windows, casting soft golden beams across rows of shelves lined with labeled jars, parchment scrolls, and glass vials.
Arin sat at a wide desk tucked into the back corner, a neat stack of papers on one side and an inkwell on the other. Her fingers moved steadily, copying out inventory logs from Isolde's chaotic scribbles into cleaner, legible records. Though the air was warm and dry, a gentle breeze from the window helped cool her focus-driven tension.
It had been a long time since she had felt this useful. This grounded.
Across the room, Isolde was bent over the preparation table, slicing dried roots with precision. She hummed softly under her breath, a melody Arin didn't recognize but found soothing. The two women had barely spoken since Arin arrived that morning—Isolde had simply handed her a ledger and said, "Let's see if your palace training can untangle my mess."
Arin hadn't needed more than that. The work was familiar in a comforting way. Numbers, letters, patterns—things that could be controlled, understood. Not like people.
"Don't forget to mark the wolf's bane in red," Isolde called without looking up. "Last time someone misfiled it, one of the trainees nearly passed out trying to brew a calming tea."
"I've already marked it," Arin replied, dipping her quill again. "And corrected three dosage errors."
Isolde chuckled. "I knew I liked you."
"I'm going to head out to have a look at the pups," Isolde said after a moment as she took off her apron and washed her hands. "The last time they almost had Sera running for the hills."
With that, Isolde went out to door, leaving Arin alone to enjoy her work in silence. Then, the door creaked open, and the peaceful rhythm of the morning fractured.
Arin looked up as a tall young woman stepped inside with purpose. She was striking—curves draped in deep crimson cloth, her golden hair twisted into an elegant braid that swept over one shoulder. Her eyes were a pale, icy blue, and they narrowed the moment they settled on Arin.
"Can I help you?" Arin asked politely, though she already sensed the tension rising in the room like heat before a storm.
"I'm looking for Isolde," the woman said, her voice silk-smooth but laced with something sharp. "I was told I could pick up the balm for my father's shoulder."
"She's gone to have a look at the nursery now," Arin said, gesturing toward the preparation table. "I can—"
The woman's gaze flicked to the desk, then back to Arin. "And you are?"
"Arin," she replied simply.
The name seemed to hang in the air like smoke. The woman's lips parted slightly, then curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Ah," she said. "The royal castaway."
Arin set down her quill. "I'm helping Isolde with her records."
"Of course you are." The woman stepped further inside, her eyes sweeping the room with calculated interest before returning to Arin. "Funny, I didn't think we were in the habit of letting strangers sort through pack records."
Arin kept her tone calm. "I was asked to help."
"By whom?" the woman asked, tilting her head.
"By Zayan," Arin said.
The effect was immediate. The woman's smile vanished, her eyes narrowing into slits of ice.
"You call him by name?" she said, voice low with incredulity. "You think that gives you the right to be here?"
Arin rose to her feet slowly, aware that the shift in posture would either diffuse the tension—or escalate it.
"I don't think anything," she said. "I'm here because your Alpha asked me to stay and offered me this work."
"You shouldn't be," the woman snapped. "You are sure to bring disaster to this pack. You think because you survived whatever disgrace sent you here, you're owed something. But this isn't the capital. We don't bow to broken wolves."
"I didn't ask to be bowed to," Arin replied, her voice steady. "And I didn't ask to be saved. But since I was, I'm doing my best not to waste the chance I was given."
"You should leave before you bring trouble to our borders," the woman hissed. "You don't belong here."
Before Arin could respond, the door to the room swung open, and Isolde strode in carrying a tray of labeled jars.
"Rena," she said briskly, eyes flicking between the two women. "Still making friends, I see."
Rena straightened and smoothed her skirts. "I came for the balm."
"It's already in your father's satchel," Isolde said, setting the tray down and arching a brow. "Which means you had no reason to be back here."
"I wanted to thank you personally," Rena said, sugar dripping from her voice.
"Don't lie, Rena," Isolde said, her tone sharpened. "I heard most of what you said. You think I keep this place silent just to be mysterious?"
Rena flushed, her composure slipping for the first time.
"She is dangerous," Rena muttered, gesturing toward Arin. "She's being watched by powerful people. You think Roan won't come here looking for her?"
Isolde stepped forward, eyes fierce. "And if he does, do you think we'll just hand her over like she's some loose thread in a tapestry? She's under our protection now. Zayan made that clear."
Rena looked between them, breathing hard, jaw clenched.
"You like her," she accused, voice laced with disbelief. "You both do."
"I trust her," Isolde corrected. "Because I've seen how she works. Because she didn't flinch when you tried to insult her. And because unlike some, she didn't come here with petty ambitions in mind."
Rena recoiled like she'd been slapped.
"Now," Isolde continued, "take your fake gratitude and get out of my infirmary immediately."
Rena turned without another word, storming out the door with all the grace of a tantrum buried under poise.
The moment the door slammed shut, Arin let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Is she always like that?" she asked.
"Rena?" Isolde snorted. "She's the Beta's daughter. That should tell you enough."
"She's... interested in Zayan," Arin said, trying to sound casual but not quite managing.
"Deeply," Isolde said with a roll of her eyes. "And she's been obsessed with the idea of becoming his mate since we were kids. He's not interested, of course, which makes her even more obsessed."
Arin shifted uneasily. "She thinks I'm a threat."
Isolde gave her a sharp look. "Are you?"
Arin's mouth opened, then closed again. She didn't know how to answer that.
"I'll tell you what I told Zay," Isolde said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. "I like you. You're calm, observant, thoughtful. And whether or not you realize it, you have a spine of steel."
"Thank you," Arin said, softly but sincerely.
"Rena doesn't scare me," Isolde continued. "And she shouldn't scare you, either. She's all noise and wounded pride. You? You've survived worse than her petty jealousy."
Arin's lips curved into a small smile. "You're not what I expected from a healer."
"Good," Isolde said. "Now come on. We've got two weeks of backlogged records and only one functional inkwell."
Arin sat back down and picked up her quill. The storm had passed—for now—but something told her Rena wouldn't go quietly.
Still, she had a place here. And that was more than she'd had in a long time.