Page 48 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“That’s enough.”

The circle around them loosened almost immediately, the surrounding wolves returning to their own movements as the tension dissolved back into the broader rhythm of the yard.

Eira’s pulse did not follow.

Neither did the heat beneath her skin.

“You stopped,” she said, her voice low but steady.

He brushed the back of his hand across his brow, his attention still fixed on her.

“I ended the exercise.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“When it stopped being one.”

He did not look away.

“When it stopped being training,” he corrected, the distinction quiet but intentional.

Her gaze sharpened.

“You can feel it.”

There was no question in the words.

He did not attempt to dismiss it.

“Yes.”

The admission carried more weight than denial could have.

“And?”

He drew a slow breath, as though placing something firmly back into structure.

“It doesn’t change the terms.”

Not what had happened. Not what it meant.

Only the boundary he intended to hold.

She watched him carefully, searching for hesitation, for fracture.

There was none.

Only control, drawn tight and held in place.

She exhaled.

“Then perhaps,” she said, “you should have carved something less… alive.”

For a brief moment, something sharper moved through his expression—not regret, not anger, but something more precise.

“I don’t use tools I expect to fail,” he said quietly.

Then he turned and walked away.