The march back to camp dragged in the worst way. The woods were unnatural—no birds calling through the canopy, no small game rustling in the underbrush. Even the wind died down to a faint breeze as their group moved through the shadows like ghosts heading home from a dead war.
They crested the northern ridge right at dusk. Torchlight flickered through the pine trunks ahead, outlining the high wooden stakes of the camp’s main perimeter.
As they passed through the gate, Isla emerged from the guard station to welcome them. She cut across the dirt yard toward Ronan, holding a rolled leather dispatch.
"The Alphas from the allied territories are sitting," she said. "They want the full report."
Ronan’s jaw set hard. "Of course they do."
Before Rhea could even unbuckle her travel cloak, a yo
