Ashcroft doesn’t escalate quietly.
He escalates loudly.
The broadcast hits every divine-marked wolf simultaneously.
No encrypted channel.
No Covenant node.
No hidden network.
He hijacks pack communication grids across six territories at once.
Morgan catches it too late.
The image slams onto every active screen in the compound.
Ashcroft stands alone in what looks like an abandoned cathedral — stone columns, broken stained glass, and silver lines etched into the floor.
Behind him—
Three wolves kneel.
Bound.
Divine markers faintly visible beneath their skin.
My stomach drops.
“They’re children,” I whisper.
Not toddlers.
Teenagers.
But still children.
Ashcroft looks into the camera.
“They were hiding.”
He gestures toward the kneeling wolves.
“They were taught to suppress.
