The air still tasted of ash and iron when dawn stretched pale fingers across the horizon. Isla stood alone at the edge of the clearing, watching smoke curl from the remnants of the council fire. The previous night’s decisions lingered heavy in the air. Kael had offered her the title she never wanted, and she’d refused it with a warrior’s steadiness.
She was meant to fight, not rule.
The packs were restless but alive. Wolves nursed wounds and rebuilt shattered shelters. War councils were already forming as Elder Rowan summoned leaders to meet. Isla felt the tug of duty and obligation, but also a restless itch under her skin. The battle was over, but peace still felt like a stranger.
As the sun rose, Isla moved through the bustling camp, nodding to warriors and healers alike. She stopped
