The first light of dawn broke across the clearing, low and gold, touching the ground like a quiet apology. What had once been a battlefield was now still. No swords drawn. No howls. Just broken banners and trampled grass, soaked with last night’s grief.
Aria stood with Xander in the heart of it. Shoulder to shoulder. Their hands locked. Behind them, Moonrise banners waved beside rogue colors—once divided, now side by side.
Across the clearing, Thorne waited.
He stood with what remained of the Ash Pack. No growls. No posturing. Just silence. His cloak hung loose around him, streaked with dried blood. His eyes were dark and hollow, but his spine stayed straight. He didn’t bow. But he wasn’t fighting either.
Between the two sides stood a rough table, splintered, patched together from ruin
