The storm of the border fight lingered long after the last howl. The rogues had been driven back into the dark, but the victory tasted like rot. Warriors limped through the compound clutching torn limbs, others were carried on makeshift stretchers, faces pale, breath shallow. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, coating the orphanage walls like invisible grime.
Alpha Victor moved among them not as a leader offering strength but as a beast still ravenous. His eyes were wild, glowing faintly under the moon’s silver edge, his jaw clenched in a snarl that hadn’t left since the battle’s end. Every step he took radiated fury barely reined in.
When he entered the orphanage that night, the air itself seemed to shrink away.
The children scattered like frightened deer, pressing themselves in
