Devon’s POV
The air was thick with the iron scent of blood and scorched pine.
Smoke hung low, crawling through the remnants of what used to be our sanctuary. Where there had once been laughter, training, and pups chasing each other between trees, now lay silence… heavy and hollow. Only the sounds of shallow breaths, broken howls, and quiet sobs filled the battered Woodland courtyard.
I stood among them, my pack shattered and bleeding, looking at me like I had answers. Like I could fix this.
Their eyes didn't say it aloud, but I could feel it deep, in the marrow of my bones.
You failed us.
They wouldn’t say it. Not yet.
But grief doesn’t lie. And blame doesn’t need a voice.
Behind me, Franco’s breathing was a death rattle.
“We’re losing him,” the pack medic whispered, his voice hoa
