The wind shifted, Selene felt it in her bones before anyone spoke. She was seated on a ridge overlooking the makeshift encampment—a wild sprawl of tents, training rings, signal towers, and fires that burned day and night. Wolves of all clans now walked shoulder to shoulder. Ashspine. Cragtooth. Frostveil. Even the long-rogue Scarsong mercenaries, who once pledged to none.
It was unity carved out of defiance.
And it would all be tested now because the wind carried smoke. Not from their fires. But from something burning far too close to the eastern vale.
Brakka, Ronan’s second-in-command, rode hard through the forest line, mud and blood streaked across his arms. His howl rose before he even reached the center camp. Ronan and Selene were already moving. By the time Brakka dismounted, Selen
