088 | SCAR

“Tell me what Nazte and Scillian are planning,” I said flatly, “and this – all of this – is yours.”

My method of torture was exactly the opposite. I gestured broadly to the table before us, upon which were a myriad of foods, drinks, and clothes. Luezza’s scowl didn’t once let up, but her eyes, usually like hard chips of blue ice, seemed to melt at the sight of the steaming buns and herbal tea.

Her hands were knotted tightly to the chair I’d sat her on. Her fingers, which had not once stopped writhing in an attempt to shake off her bonds, at last stilled. She sighed. “Fine.”

I frowned at her. Was it really so easy to break her? I remembered what she had been like when I’d first met her, with a scowl that never faltered and eyes full of hatred. Even her sugared words had come out sour.

Then again… I had seen the way the Winterpaw Warrior wolves lived. Such a spread had o