Dawn came slowly, as if the sun itself hesitated to rise over what had been left behind.
The battlefield no longer roared with violence, yet it felt louder than it had during the fight. Broken branches littered the forest floor. Dark stains marked where blood had soaked into the earth—some of it already drying, some still glistening as if the ground refused to let go.
Glosh sat on the stone steps outside the pack house, her injured shoulder carefully bandaged, her hands resting loosely in her lap. She hadn’t slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moment Dren lifted his weapon.
Not against the enemy.
Against Kael.
Behind her, the pack moved quietly. Wolves spoke in hushed voices, as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness holding the morning together. Healers passed wit
