Klaus’s POV
The storm had taken everything from us—time, strength, hope—and yet, when we finally reached the ruins, it all felt wasted.
The entrance was cleverly concealed, the tunnels buried beneath layers of rock and snow. We breached carefully, weapons raised, every sense taut like a bowstring ready to snap. My wolf paced just under my skin, hunger for blood mixing with the icy air that cut at my lungs.
And then—nothing.
Not a single heartbeat. Not a single enemy breath.
The facility was empty.
The sharp tang of oil and gunmetal still lingered in the air. Beds unmade, chairs pushed back from tables, mugs still resting with stale traces of coffee. The walls bore marks of daily life, not the cold sterility of a temporary camp. This was no outpost; this had been a home. Their home.
