LOGAN
The wind bit at my skin as I stood on the ridge that overlooked the training ground. Warriors were sparring there, their oaths and the clashing of steel background to the wind that had been as much a part of my own heartbeat as anything else to me. And yet, what I saw then was not normal for me—fierce and unyielding and loyal—normally filled me with pride. But pride today was like a shadow creeping into a room filled with light.
Something was wrong.
I'd felt it in the wind, in Isaiah's avoidance of my gaze, in the hesitant strides that stumbled whenever the King or I approached. Isaiah was a seer, a man whose visions had guided this pack to triumph and disaster. But something was wrong with him lately, something that had replaced his calm equanimity with an unbecoming expression o
