Simon's POV
The morning sun was dull behind thick clouds, casting long shadows over the eastern ridge of the pack border. I tightened the strap on my chest plate, still recovering from my last wound but pushing through the ache. There was no time to rest.
Alpha Harold had finally agreed to a meeting.
He arrived with only two guards, an unusual choice for someone as notoriously paranoid as he was. The fact that he came at all spoke volumes. His warriors were struggling. Rumors had reached me days ago that a handful of his scouts had crossed our borders seeking medical help. At first, I assumed it was desperation. But after seeing their condition firsthand, I realized it was something more.
We stood just inside the war room, the air between us thick with territorial unease.
