Page 54 of Salt Between the Wolves

The interaction lasted only seconds, yet something about it left an unpleasant weight in Soren's chest.

She looked alone, not because she lacked company—Ironfang was full of people—but because she seemed isolated despite being surrounded by them.

The realization lingered as she reached the center of the courtyard and, as though sensing something, lifted her head.

For an instant their eyes met.

The distance between them was considerable, far enough that neither could make out the details of the other's expression and far enough that no conversation was possible, yet the moment stretched nevertheless.

Weeks earlier, she would have held his gaze, perhaps angrily, perhaps stubbornly, or perhaps with one of the countless questions she never seemed willing to leave unanswered.

More than once she had sought him out deliberately, and more than once she had refused to let a disagreement rest.

At the time, he had found it exhausting, but now he found himself missing it because the woman standing below was no longer looking for answers.

The realization arrived with startling clarity when Eira looked at him, recognized him, and then looked away.

She simply continued walking, as though he were merely another figure crossing the fortress and his presence no longer carried any particular significance.

The feeling that followed caught him off guard.

It was not anger but something colder, accompanied by the uneasy certainty that a door had closed somewhere between them without him noticing.

For several moments, Soren remained where he was, watching as Eira disappeared beneath the archway leading toward the northern side of the fortress.

She never looked back, and only after she vanished from sight did he realize that he had been waiting for her to do so.

She had stopped reaching for him, and he had no idea how to reach back.

By the time the final council member arrived, the afternoon light had begun shifting across the stone floor of the chamber.

The meeting room itself was modest by the standards of other clans, as Ironfang had never cared much for displays of status. A long wooden table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by heavy chairs worn smooth by years of use, while maps, reports, and patrol records covered much of the available space.

Soren took his usual seat, and Kael settled beside him.

Across the table sat Harlan, one of the oldest hunters still serving on the council, and Varek, whose responsibilities kept him informed of nearly every supply shortage and trade concern affecting the fortress.

The discussion began where most discussions had lately begun: with Frostvein.

Reports from the eastern border were reviewed first, patrol routes were adjusted, and scouts reported movement near several mountain crossings, though nothing substantial enough to confirm a larger operation.

After that came the matter of supplies.

One of Ironfang's smaller trading partners had reduced shipments again, not enough to cause immediate concern but enough for everyone to notice, and nobody needed to explain why.

The room grew quieter.

"Fear travels faster than merchants," Varek observed while studying one of the reports. "People hear rumors, and they begin protecting themselves."

Harlan grunted.

"They protected themselves before Frostvein started throwing warriors across our borders."

"Not like this."

The older hunter leaned back in his chair while the discussion remained practical for a time, focusing on routes, food stores, trade agreements, weather forecasts, and the sort of problems Ironfang had always understood how to solve.

Then Harlan folded one of the reports and set it aside.