The dawn broke with a pale, silver light that clung to the trees outside the Northern Pack’s borders. For once, there was no cry of alarm, no howling clash with rogues—only an unsettling quiet, heavy as a storm brewing far beyond the horizon. Lyra felt it pressing against her chest as she leaned against the window of her room, watching warriors mount their patrols. Something about the silence unsettled her more than any battle cry ever could.
Down in the courtyard, Lucian strode with purpose, his dark coat catching the morning glow. His presence alone commanded attention, and wolves paused mid-task, lowering their heads as he passed. Yet, for all his commanding aura, Lyra could sense the weight on his shoulders. His jaw was set, and though his eyes were sharp as flint, she had learned to
