Lê Magalhães

"Your wolf isn't responding as should."

Reaction came in micro-gestures. Pupil contracted beyond necessary. Right shoulder descended slightly, as if weight he sustained had found gap to slip. He brought hand to own forearm, pressing fingers against skin, automatic gesture of who tries calling internal presence through physical touch.

"You're imagining things," he said, yet wolf didn't react to challenge implicit in speech. There was no air vibration. There was no instinctive response.

Talia tilted head, not in curiosity, but analysis. "Then face me and let me touch your connection."

He hesitated for less than second, but for someone trained like her, that equaled confession. Samir never hesitated proving strength. Never.

"Don't do this here," he murmured, and word here carried more than location; carried exposure. He didn't fear her discovering. Feared others noticing.

She didn't raise voice or make abrupt gesture. Just extended hand and placed fingers on his wrist. Wasn't intimate gesture in romantic sense; was technical, almost clinical, but effect was immediate. Energy that should vibrate under skin was rarefied, as if line connecting him to wolf had been corroded from inside. Talia closed eyes for instant, not to dramatize, but to better feel irregularity.

What she found wasn't physical injury. Was deterioration.

She opened eyes and faced him again, and this time there was no space for irony. "Since when?"

Samir tried pulling arm back, but she maintained pressure firm enough to prevent escape without transforming it into physical confrontation. "Didn't start yesterday," she insisted, observing way he distributed body weight not to overload left side. "This is progressing."

He released air slowly, and pride always molding his posture yielded just enough to allow truth coming out. "Since last full moon."

She calculated mentally. Last full moon coincided with confrontation at border territory, when he forced partial transformation to protect two young pack members who'd been cornered by dissidents. At time, everyone celebrated his resistance. No one questioned price.

"You forced beyond limit," she concluded, and he didn't contest.

"Wolf responded," he said, as if still defending decision. "I needed it responding."

"And now it's not responding," Talia countered, and phrase didn't come out as judgment, but naked reality refusing being softened.

Silence installing between them wasn't uncomfortable; was dense. Samir passed hand over face, rare gesture in him, and when speaking again, voice was no longer shielded. "It's… fading." Word seemed difficult choosing, as if admitting pr

Selena uncrossed arms and let hands falling beside body, gesture indicating not surrender, but willingness ending confrontation without unnecessarily prolonging pain.

"You can't keep someone safe while allowing others deciding for her who should die," she said, and calm sustaining phrase was result of exhaustion not manifesting in tears, but clarity.

Forgiveness request didn't come as rehearsed speech, or dramatic plea, but something seeming difficult pronouncing, and perhaps precisely therefore truer.

"I'm sorry," Viktor said, holding her gaze without looking away. "I should've questioned before. Should've chosen you before."

Selena felt those words' weight settling inside her, and for second considered possibility that, in another moment, that declaration would've been enough rebuilding what was shaken; however, what broke that night wasn't just romantic trust or political partnership, but perception they walked in same direction.

"I accept your forgiveness request," she stated, and decision saying that wasn't impulsive, but fruit of silent analysis of what needed carrying and what needed releasing to move forward. "But forgiveness isn't return."

Viktor blinked slowly, as if distinction hitting him with more force than direct no.

"Isn't love?" he asked, and question didn't sound demanding, just uncertain.

Selena approached one step, diminishing distance previously maintained, not to reestablish bond, but ensure he understood truth without distortions.

"What I feel doesn't disappear because you erred," she responded, and honesty there wasn't concession, but maturity. "But what I feel also isn't enough ignoring who you chose being when pressured."

She touched own chest with fingertips, brief gesture indicating not fragility, but self-awareness.

Kade didn't answer. He just kept his eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for the moment when the world would break in two again.

The hall was filled with murmurs and mixed smells—wine, perfume, and nervousness.