The corridors are chaos.
I move through smoke and shadows, the silver dagger clutched in my right hand, following the sounds of battle toward the main floor. My wolf is pushing at my skin, wanting to shift and fight properly, but I hold her back. I need human hands for what I'm planning.
The first enemy I encounter is a massive gray wolf rounding the corner at full sprint. He skids to a stop when he sees me, lips pulling back to reveal fangs slick with blood.
Not pack. The scent is wrong, and there's a wildness in his eyes that marks him as hired muscle rather than true believer.
He lunges.
I drop and roll, the move so ingrained from years of training that my body executes it before my brain catches up. His jaws snap shut on empty air where my throat was a second ago. I come up behind
