Kael’s POV
The mansion smelled like smoke, blood, and wet stone.
Not exactly comforting.
I adjusted the strap of the supply bag on my shoulder as I moved through the dim corridor, stepping around shattered debris and streaks of dried blood along the floor.
Somewhere deeper inside the estate, wolves were still fighting.
You could hear it constantly.
Distant growls.
Crashing walls.
Occasional screams.
The whole place felt like it was slowly collapsing around us.
And somehow, my job still involved carrying water and bandages through hallways like this was an ordinary night.
I almost laughed at the thought.
My name’s Kael.
Delta warrior.
Twenty-six years old.
Born in the outer rings of the pack to a blacksmith father who died defending the southern borders when I was thirteen.
