Page 77 of The Moonborn's Curse

The Oracle's voice was soft as if speaking to a child stuck in a nightmare.

"It will get better, child. I promise."

Astrid hadn't spoken to Hagan all day.

Not after the fight.

Not after the blood.

Not after Garrik carried Seren away and she had to follow, helpless, furious, heart aching.

She had passed him in the halls like he was a stranger.

Not cruel.

Just... silent.

But that night, long after Draken's words had settled like a heavy weight in his chest, Hagan lay curled in bed, facing the wall, limbs tense and throat tight.

He heard the door creak open softly.

The scent of wild herbs and clean skin drifted in before she even spoke.

"Scooch over."

He didn't argue.

Just moved aside.

She lay down next to him like she used to when he was little, before the tribe expected him to be their next Highclaw, before handfastings and responsibilities and cruel things said out of pride.

Her arm curled beneath her head, and she stared at the ceiling.

"What happened, Hagan?"

His chest swelled.

He pressed his lips together.

His throat burned.

"I felt... trapped," he admitted at last, voice thick.

"I didn't mean to hurt her. I just—Lia—"

He stopped.

Astrid waited.

She always had patience like the sea.

"I feel like I'm letting Lia down. She's been through so much. She needs someone."

There was silence.

And then Astrid spoke, her voice quiet, warm, edged with memory.

"Your father wasn't always interested in me, you know."

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