"What if they don't accept her?" Kairos asks again.
Darien exhales through his nose and lets his body drop back onto the bed, arms spread, eyes fixed on the carved ceiling beams. The ceiling's pattern is familiar, he used to count the little diamond inlays as a kid whenever he couldn't sleep, pretending they were stars in some impossible sky. Right now, he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"I'm not worried about that," he mutters finally.
Kairos snorts. "You're lying. You always worry."
Darien rolls onto his side, the bedsheets rustling like dry leaves. His wolf's right—he is worried. He's been worried since the moment Halric spoke those cursed words about the prophecy, since the moment he realized Heidi might be the one at its center. But right now, his fear isn't about acceptance or rejection. It's about survival.
He throws his hands listlessly in the air. "I'm trying to find a way to protect her. From the pack. From all of them. But I can't find one."
