POV: Tristan
I stood in the center of the strategic map room, the air thick with the copper tang of blood and the acrid, lingering sting of smoke. The surprise was over. The first wave of the Syndicate had been repelled from the courtyard, but the cost was carved into the scorched stone of our home. We weren't just a pack in mourning anymore; we were a pack at war, and the "guest" standing across from me was the only one who seemed to know the rules of this new, mechanical s*******r.
"They didn't come to kill us all," Leo said, his violet eyes reflecting the flickering orange glow of the signal fires outside.
He was wiping a smear of black oil from his cheek with a rag, his movements eerily calm. "They came for the heart. They took your Anchor, and they took the primary vein of the Moon
