The convoy tore down the forest road like a thunderclap, headlights cutting through the gloom. Massive black SUVs rolled one after another, engines snarling, their armored sides reflecting pale moonlight. The growl of their approach announced them long before the tires screeched against the gravel outside the gates of Silverpine Pack.
Night pressed thick and heavy over Silverpine Pack, but the compound was awake.
Torches burned along the walls, their flames steady despite the cold air, casting long shadows across stone and timber. Warriors stood at attention on the ramparts, not scrambling in alarm, but waiting—watchful, tense, prepared. Word had spread hours earlier, carried by runners and confirmed by scent-marked messengers.
Alpha Victor was coming.
At the outer watchtower, a young
