Damian's P.O.V.
The sun had barely begun to rise, casting faint streaks of gold over the treetops as I paced the edge of the pack's perimeter. My wolf was restless, its instincts sharp and uneasy, as though sensing something wasn’t right. I’d been up all night, patrolling, waiting for a sign of trouble.
And then I caught it—a faint, acrid scent on the breeze. Blood.
My stomach tightened as I followed the trail, my wolf surging forward, urging me to hurry. The scent grew stronger, mingling with something familiar. My heart sank as the realization hit. Rowan.
I broke into a sprint, weaving through the trees until I found him crumpled at the edge of the territory, his body limp and bloodied. For a moment, I froze, staring at the broken man who had once been my son. His clothes were shredd
