The packhouse felt heavier than stone as Lucian made his decision. For days the air had been thick with unease—the scent of ash, of rogue blood, and of fear still clung to every wall. But it was the symbol carved into the sacred grove that settled it for him. The Shadow Fang weren’t just stories whispered by old wolves to frighten pups. They were real, and they had returned.
And if they had returned, no single pack would survive them alone.
Lucian stood in his office, staring down at the worn oak map spread across his desk. His hand hovered over the borders, tracing lines that had once meant peace and alliance. They looked fragile now, like ink that could be washed away with the next storm.
Darius leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression carved from steel. “You’re certai
