LUNA
For eleven days, I ran the pack.
Not by design. Not because it had been planned. Roger’s wound was clean but significant, and Della’s instructions about movement, strain, and recovery were absolute. That meant the daily operations of a pack at war fell to the person closest to him who understood the work.
I understood the work.
I had been learning it since the day I returned to Silverwood,absorbing the rhythm of it, the structure, the unspoken language of leadership that looked like authority from the outside and felt like service from within.
Morning meetings. Patrol assignments. Supply lines rerouted after Petra’s betrayal had fractured half our logistics network. Documentation rebuilt from fragments I found in the deep archive, cross-referenced, corrected, and reissued.
And
