Chapter 25 Come for Answers #3
Only he felt different.
The realization lingered longer than he liked, and for the first time in weeks, the thought that followed was not about Vargan, the war, or even the mark.
It was Eira.
Where are you?
The question came quietly, carrying neither anger nor desperation, only a sense of absence that somehow felt worse than either.
The chamber remained silent long after Garrick and Kael left.
Soren eventually rolled up the map, not because he had finished studying it, but because he was tired of looking at roads that led nowhere.
The motion pulled at his shoulder, and pain followed immediately. It was predictable and reliable, unlike most things lately.
Outside, dusk had begun settling across the fortress.
The corridors were quieter than usual, as many of the wolves who normally filled them were gone, some permanently and others occupied with funerals, family visits, and the endless duties that followed loss.
The reality of it lingered everywhere, in lowered voices, half-empty tables, and faces that no longer looked quite the same.
Soren noticed all of it and wished he didn't.
By the time he reached his chambers, darkness had fully claimed the mountains.
The room greeted him with the same stillness it always did, containing the same desk, the same fire, and the same bed.
Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed.
He removed his cloak and lowered himself carefully into a chair near the window.
His shoulder protested immediately, and the mark followed a moment later with a dull ache beneath his ribs. It was not sharp this time, which somehow made it almost worse.
The pain had become familiar enough that its absence now felt stranger.
Rain tapped softly against the glass.
Far below, lights flickered throughout Ironfang, forming small pockets of life scattered across the fortress where families gathered, friends mourned, and wolves tried to make sense of the last few weeks.
Soren leaned his head back and closed his eyes, intending to rest only for a moment.
The exhaustion waiting behind them was immediate, heavy, and relentless.
A knock sounded at the door.
His eyes opened instantly.
The first thought that came to him was that it was not Eira, and the realization lingered long enough to irritate him.
"Enter."
The door opened, and one of the younger guards stepped inside.
The wolf looked uncomfortable immediately, which seemed smart considering that most people did lately.
"My lord."
Soren waited.
The guard swallowed before speaking.
"There is a messenger."
That was not unusual.
"There are always messengers."
"Not this one."
The hesitation caught Soren's attention, slowly and reluctantly.
The guard stepped forward and extended a sealed letter.
The wax bore no mark of Frostvein, no mark of Ironfang, and no mark Soren recognized, which somehow made it more interesting.
The young wolf shifted his weight.
"He insisted it be delivered directly to you."
The room grew very still.
Soren took the letter.
The parchment felt ordinary enough, yet nothing about it explained the sudden unease settling beneath his skin.
The guard remained standing there, waiting and clearly curious, though equally determined not to show it.
"You may go."
The young wolf disappeared immediately.
The door closed, and silence returned.
For several moments, Soren simply stared at the seal.
Something about it felt deliberate and careful, as though whoever had sent it understood exactly how much attention a mystery could command.
Eventually, he broke the wax, unfolded the parchment, and began to read.
The message contained only three lines, with no greeting, no explanation, and no signature.
There didn't need to be one.
Soren recognized the handwriting immediately.
Leander.
His gaze moved to the first line.
She is alive.
For a moment, the room seemed to disappear as the fire, the rain, and the ache in his shoulder faded into the background, leaving only those three words behind.
Alive.
His grip tightened around the parchment as the mark beneath his ribs flared violently with a heat sharp enough to nearly steal his breath.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to the next line.
Do not come for her.
The muscles in his jaw tightened before he read the final line.
Come for answers.
A heavy, absolute silence settled over the room.
Soren read the message again.
It was only three lines long, yet somehow the parchment felt heavier than any report he had received in months.
Alive.
That word came first, and everything else followed.
Why was she with Leander, what answers was he offering, what did he know, and why had he been so certain that Soren would come?
His eyes drifted toward the bloodstained bandage beneath his shirt, then to the mark and the wound that refused to heal.
The fire crackled softly in the darkness.
For the first time since Eira had disappeared, his thoughts were no longer fixed on where she had gone but on what had happened to both of them.
And somewhere beyond the mountains and the sea, a man named Leander apparently believed that he held the answer.