Without pause, he tossed the case onto the table and loosened the collar of his dark shirt. He barely glanced in my direction. The scent of smoke and dried blood clung to his skin and his clothes. It was a constant reminder of the brutal life he led, the violent world he chose over me every single day.
I sat on the low couch near the cold hearth, my arm wrapped in bandages, my face drained of color. He didn't even notice.
"Did you eat?" he asked flatly, pouring himself a drink. His tone carried no warmth. No concern. Just the clipped authority of an Alpha addressing a subordinate.
I raised my bandaged hand and showed him the stitches. "The healer said I need to avoid certain foods while this mends."
His brows drew together slightly. His gaze flickered to the bandage but did not linger. "Then make something that suits you."
I nodded, pulling out my phone to order something from the trading post's delivery runners.
Seeing me act so detached, so devoid of the warmth I had once shown him freely, Caspian paused. His glass hovered in midair, halfway to his lips. Something shifted behind his eyes, though I could not tell if it was his wolf stirring or merely irritation at my silence.