Chapter 5 – The Cabin of No Name

The fire burned low in the early morning light.

Seren sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in her cloak, sipping warm water laced with crushed herbs. Her hands were still sore from bandaging wounds—his and hers. She'd barely slept, but sleep felt pointless now. Her mind wouldn't quiet.

Across from her, the wolf rested.

Still in human form. Shirtless. Bruised.

He hadn't said a single word.

Not last night.

Not now.

But he hadn't left.

That meant something.

His wounds were healing faster than hers—typical for his kind—but he still looked exhausted. The gashes on his shoulder had scabbed over, deep red lines crossing his skin like clawed shadows.

"You should lie down," Seren said softly.

He didn't move.

Didn't argue either.

So she took that as progress.

The cabin was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made your ears strain to hear something that wasn't there.

It had no name.

No markings.

No memories hung on the walls. No photos. No carvings. No personal items.

Just four bare walls, a crooked door, a half-mended roof, and a fire that crackled softly through the silence.

It wasn't a home.

It was a hiding place.

And that's exactly what they both needed.

Seren moved slowly through the space, brushing off dust, folding what little bedding there was. She found dried meat tucked in a corner, wrapped in leather. A second water skin. A flint striker. Whoever had lived here—or still did—had kept it stocked with care, but nothing that would identify them.

The wolf watched her silently as she moved.

It wasn't the same kind of stare Lucan used to give her—controlling, hungry, cold.

This stare was quiet. Neutral. Alert. As if he were learning her by her movements, not her words.

"Do you have a name?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

"I'm not asking to take anything from you," she said. "Just… I don't want to keep calling you 'the wolf.'"

Still nothing.

She smiled a little. "I could name you myself."

That got him to raise one eyebrow.

"I'm serious. You saved my life twice. I should call you something."

He looked away.

She leaned against the wall. "Cael."

His gaze snapped back to her.

She blinked. "That… just came to me. I don't know why."

Silence.

Then, after a long moment—he nodded once.

Her heart jumped.

"So it is your name."

Still no words.

But his eyes didn't deny it.

The hours passed slowly.

Seren cleaned the wounds on her arms again, checking for infection. She drank more water. Ate half of a dried fruit she found in her pack. Her appetite was almost gone. Every part of her body felt pulled thin.

But the baby was still quiet.

Still present.

Still strong.

She placed a hand gently over her stomach and closed her eyes.

No movement. No pain. But a steady, subtle warmth pulsed under her skin, almost like the child was listening. Like it knew this place was safer than the last.

Like it trusted the man sitting across the room.

That part scared her most.

Cael finally stood near sundown.

He didn't speak.

But he went to the far corner of the cabin and opened a trapdoor she hadn't noticed.

He pulled up a wrapped bundle of dark fabric and dropped it beside the fire.

Inside: a new shirt. A hunting knife. A map burned at the edges. And a wooden totem carved into the shape of a wolf's head.

He turned it over in his palm, then set it near the fire.

"Yours?" Seren asked.

He nodded.

She hesitated. "Family?"

His jaw tightened slightly.

She didn't push.

"I lost everything, too," she said.

That made him look at her.

It wasn't sympathy.

It was understanding.

He knew what loss looked like.

What exile felt like.

She didn't need to say more.

That night, they didn't speak.

But something changed.

Cael sat closer to the fire.

He passed her half of the meat without her asking.

When the wind howled outside, they both stayed alert—but didn't panic.

And when she woke in the night from a dream she couldn't remember, sweating, shaking, and breathless, he was already awake.

Already watching her.

She didn't speak.

Just laid back down slowly.

Safe.

By dawn, she felt something different.

Not strength.

But stillness.

Her body was tired, but not tense.

The fear had dulled to something slower.

Her mind wasn't racing anymore.

That meant it was time to ask questions again.

She sat up as the fire popped.

"Why did you save me?" She asked, "Twice."

Cael didn't answer.

He stood, poured her some water, and handed it over.

She took it. Drank.

Waited.

Still nothing.

Then, quietly, he said his first words.

"They weren't after you."

Seren froze.

His voice was rough. Low. Like it had gone unused for a long time.

"What?"

He looked at her.

"They were after the child."

She stared at him, her heart slamming in her chest.

"How do you know that?"

His jaw clenched. "Because I've seen it before."

"Seen what?"

He turned back to the fire.

And didn't answer.