Page 44 of The Moonborn's Curse

It had taken time.

Care.

She had made this for him.

He could feel the weight of watching eyes.

Lia.

Dain.

Veyr.

His father.

The entire pack.

Hagan clenched his jaw, pulse roaring in his ears.

Seren tried to hand it to him, but he didn't reach for it.

Why was she here?

Why hadn't she stayed where she belonged?

His father's glare burned into his skin, and Hagan knew he couldn't refuse it. Not without consequences. Not without shame.

So he took it.

Barely.

The moment it was in his hands, he felt nothing.

He didn't look at it.

Didn't trace the careful stitches.

Didn't acknowledge the time, the effort, the meaning.

Instead, he felt the pressure of Lia's gaze, the weight of Dain's disdain, the entire tribe's expectations hanging heavy in the air.

And then, in a tone he had never used before, one that felt foreign even to his own ears, he said—

"This looks like it'd be better suited for scrubbing floors."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Wrong, the moment they left his lips.

A hush fell.

His father's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Hagan."

Anger. Sharp.

Hagan's fingers curled tightly around the blanket. His pulse slammed against his ribs.

He hadn't meant to be cruel. He had never been mean like this to anyone.

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