"What was that?"

  Rosie whipped her head around, casting a glance back at the training grounds. The warriors hadn't missed it—the tension thrumming between Luca, Emlyn, and Briar still clung to the air. She could feel their lingering stares, the way their movements slowed ever so slightly, ears subtly tuned in as they pretended to focus on their drills.

  "What?" Briar's tone was light, breezy—like Rosie had asked about the weather. She didn't even bother looking at her.

  Rosie furrowed her brows. What did she mean, what?

  "The tension," she pressed, frustration creeping into her voice.

  Briar waved a dismissive hand, as if brushing the whole matter aside. "Men."

  Too big an ego, her tone seemed to say—though it was rich, coming from her.

  Rosie exhaled, exasperated. She wouldn't get anything else out of Briar. Whatever strange dynamics were at play, she'd have to untangle them herself.

  They walked on, the familiar hum of the pack settling around them—the rhythmic crunch of boots on dirt paths, the murmur of wolves deep in conversation, the clash of steel from the training field, where weapons were being sharpened. The scent of freshly cut wood mingled with sweat, the air thick with the exertion of those sparring nearby.

  They passed through the market square, where wolves bartered in low voices—bundles of dried herbs, freshly caught game, simple leatherwork and finely woven cloths spread across wooden stalls.

  Rosie shifted tactics. If Briar wouldn't give her answers about Luca, maybe she'd be more forthcoming about something else.

  "Where's that village, anyway?"

  Two warriors passed by, their voices low in hushed conversation. One of them glanced her way, before muttering something under his breath. The other followed his gaze, his brows pulling together before he turned away.

  Rogue.

  She could almost hear the unspoken word.

  Rosie kept her stride steady, refusing to acknowledge it. Beside her, Briar remained unfazed, her posture as relaxed and self-assured as ever. If she noticed the whispers—and Rosie was certain she did—she gave no indication of caring.

  If anything, she moved with even greater ease, as if daring anyone to challenge her—or the company she chose to keep.

  "It's about a two-hour run," Briar said offhandedly, as if their conversation hadn't just been interrupted. "Human village. You'll love it. They have lots of pretty things."

  A subtle jab, but Rosie let it slide. "Two hours by human run, or wolf run?"

  "Wolf, of course." Briar's smirk was smug, like she already knew the answer that was coming.

  Rosie eyed her, debating whether the logistics were an oversight or an intentional push. "I can't shift yet."

  A slow, knowing smile spread across Briar's face. Intentional, then. "No need to worry about that. We'll figure something out."

  Rosie wasn't entirely sure she liked the sound of that. "When?"

  "In five days."

  Five days felt like a long time. Rosie hadn't even been awake for two full days yet, and already, the weight of everything pressed down on her.

  She hadn't stepped foot in a human village since she was a child—back when her father used to take her along to trade furs. She had liked their ways, how their tiny homes stood snug behind fences, offering an intimacy werewolves never seemed to care for.

  Was it still like that? She supposed she'd find out soon enough—five days from now, wandering through the market, searching for something of her own to wear.

  The thought made her frown. How would she even know what to pick?

  It had been years since she had chosen her own clothes. She had worn whatever Rowan stole. Whatever was draped over her shoulders, stuffed into her hands. She had never had the luxury of deciding.

  Her gaze dropped to the soft fabric hugging her frame.

  She liked this dress. And the one from yesterday, too. Maybe she simply liked dresses. That would make things easier.

  But something else nagged at her.

  "Where do you even get all these dresses?" she asked, casting a sidelong glance at Briar.

  They couldn't be hers—they weren't anywhere near the same size, something the Alpha's sister never let her forget.

  Briar hummed, dragging out the moment just long enough to be infuriating. Rosie exhaled sharply, bracing herself for the inevitable runaround that always seemed to come with Briar.

  "That's Shaina's doing," Briar finally admitted, her tone breezy. She offered nothing more.

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  Rosie stared. Waited. Of course, with Briar, everything took twice as much effort. Her patience wore thin.

  "Who's Shaina?"

  Briar's lips twitched, a spark of amusement flickering in her eyes. Like Rosie had walked right into a carefully laid trap.

  "Oh, just a magician disguised as a seamstress," she mused. "She can turn the ugliest fabric into something worth wearing."

  It was the first time Rosie had heard genuine praise slip from Briar's sharp tongue.

  Before she could press further, Briar changed the subject without missing a beat.

  "Ah—here's the forgery."

  The heat from the blacksmith's fire wrapped around them before they even reached the entrance, the rhythmic clanging of metal-on-metal ringing through the air.

  Rosie's gaze flicked across the space, taking in the racks of weapons lined like sentinels against the walls—polished blades gleaming under the firelight, balanced daggers carefully arranged, bows strung and ready.

  Briar, of course, gravitated immediately toward them.

  She trailed her fingers along the hilt of a sword, barely skimming the metal before turning to Rosie with a considering look.

  "Once you reach that point in training, we'll get you something." A pause. "Are you more sword, bow, or daggers? Or maybe something heavier, like a hammer?"

  Rosie hesitated.

  "I don't know."

  Briar scoffed softly, the sound nearly lost in the hum of the forge. "Of course you don't."

  Rosie inhaled slowly. If things continued at this rate, she'd be an expert at ignoring Briar's uncalled-for jabs in no time.

  Instead of engaging, she pivoted.

  "So, Shaina—can I meet her?"

  Briar tilted her head, considering. For a moment, Rosie half-expected another vague, infuriating response. Then, with a smirk, Briar shrugged.

  "I suppose you can. We're not too far from her now."

  Shaina didn't resemble the mystical magician Briar had led Rosie to imagine. No flowing robes, no air of arcane mystery. But as Rosie took in the exquisite craftsmanship around her, she realized Briar hadn't been wrong—Shaina's hands truly worked magic.

  The room breathed with color and texture, each garment a masterpiece of elegance and individuality. A flowing gown of deep emerald silk shimmered under the light, its delicate lace trim whispering of timeless sophistication. Nearby, a patchwork jacket wove together an eclectic mix of patterns—an artful chaos stitched into harmony.

  Bolts of fabric stood in neat rows, waiting to be transformed—like soldiers poised for duty, awaiting their turn in battle. Rich midnight blue velvet lay beside crisp white linen, their contrast striking, a testament to Shaina's artistry.

  Rosie let her fingers glide over a bolt of crimson fabric, its surface smooth as water, catching the light like flickering flames.

  "Where do you get your fabrics?" she asked.

  She turned to Shaina, taking in the young seamstress's striking appearance. Perhaps a few years older than her—late twenties, maybe. Long, snow-white braids cascaded down her back, the contrast against her deep, midnight-dark skin making them look even more ethereal. Dressed in a vibrant yellow gown, she didn't fade beneath its brightness—she glowed.

  "From the village," Shaina replied, a hint of fondness in her voice. "I try to go whenever I can."

  "Oh. Are you coming with us in a few days then?"

  Shaina sighed, shaking her head. "I can't. My sister's birthday is that weekend, and there's too much to do." Then, as if struck by an idea, her eyes lit up. "You should come after, though! We're having a bonfire—a lot of the younger pack members will be there."

  Her gaze flicked to Briar, who—surprisingly—nodded without hesitation.

  "We will."

  Rosie glanced between them, surprised by how quickly the decision had been made. "Do you want us to pick up any fabrics for you?"

  Shaina shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Sure. Just grab whatever catches your eye—I'll whip up something special for you."

  There was a mischievous glint in her gaze, the kind Rosie recognized all too well. No wonder Briar liked her.

  Rosie blinked at the unexpected offer. "I didn't mean for me—"

  Briar cut in smoothly, her smile all too knowing. "But that's the whole reason we're going, isn't it? So Shaina can work her magic on you."

  And just like that, it clicked. This wasn't just about buying clothes. Briar had planned this from the start—she wasn't meant to pick outfits. She was meant to pick fabrics.

  Shaina beamed, her confidence unwavering. "Trust me—you'll be irresistible. Mark my words."

  A dry sigh slipped from Rosie's lips. "You two seem to forget I have a mate. I'm not planning on seducing anyone."

  That she was running away from him didn't change anything. He was still her mate, and she had no intention of offending the Goddess further more than she had already done.

  Briar rolled her eyes, the motion slow and deliberate, dripping with exasperation.

  "Yeah, the mate you left," she said flatly. "Well, he's not here, is he? But you know who is?"

  Rosie stiffened. She could almost hear the unspoken name lingering in the air, taunting her. She was so going to regret letting Briar pick up on her attraction to Luca.

  "What—are you planning to live like a saint for the rest of your life because of a boy you left?" Briar arched a brow, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to dig beneath Rosie's skin. "Everybody has needs."

  Heat crept up Rosie's neck, her stomach twisting as the allusion sank in. Nope. Absolutely not. They were not having this conversation.

  "I'm just saying," Briar added, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "It wouldn't kill you to have a little fun."

  Rosie opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

  Luckily, Shaina took pity on her, clapping her hands together with feigned innocence. "Well, you don't have to decide anything right now." She flicked a glance at Briar, eyes full of something far too knowing. "But we'll find something perfect for you. Maybe something that makes a certain someone take notice."

  Rosie groaned, rubbing her temples. If Shaina was less blunt than Briar, she was just as insufferable when it came to meddling in other people's business.

  Before Rosie could fire back, the shop door creaked open. A gust of crisp, pine-scented air swept inside, rustling the fabric rolls. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

  Silence rippled through the space, spreading like ink in water. She felt Briar's smirk before she saw it, radiating amusement like heat.

  Luca's voice was smooth, impassive. "Are you done? I want to take her to Kira."

  Briar, unsurprisingly, didn't miss a beat. "Why, big brother, you found us fast."

  Rosie swore she heard Luca exhale, but his expression remained as unreadable as ever.

  "Come on," he said, dismissing Briar entirely. "We're leaving."

  Rosie hesitated for just a fraction too long.

  Briar's smirk sharpened. Shaina's eyes gleamed.

  And Rosie—well, she knew she was caught.

  Damn it.

  Briar's voice turned silk-smooth, her smirk widening. "Oh, you're too serious for your own good, Luca. She was just about to pick something pretty."

  Luca's gaze flicked to Rosie, his eyes dropping—just briefly—taking in the fabric still beneath her fingers. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He said nothing.

  Rosie swallowed. She had no idea what he was thinking, and she couldn't ignore the subtle anxiousness settling in her chest.

  Finally, she grabbed the crimson fabric and turned to Shaina. "This one."

  Shaina's grin was pure satisfaction. "Good choice."

  Briar hummed, a slow, knowing sound. "Very bold." The unspoken words curled in the air between them—Almost like you want to be noticed.

  Rosie shot her a sharp look before brushing past, stepping outside into the cool air.

  Luca followed, his silence louder than anything Briar could have said.

  And somehow, that was worse.