Chapter 80

Maren

I woke to the sound of rain.

It wasn’t the soft kind that whispered against the roof. It was heavier, impatient—drops smacking against the windowpane like they had something to say. My room was dim, washed in that watery half-light between night and dawn, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was. The air smelled like pine and wet earth, the familiar scent of home, of the packlands, but the