Victory doesn’t bring peace.
Not this time.
The howls of triumph slowly fade into the night.
Warriors return.
The wounded are carried inside.
Bonfires are lit.
Scouts rotate.
Reports are given.
Bodies are counted.
Names are spoken.
The fallen honored.
The survivors embraced.
Redmoon won.
There’s no denying that.
But no one mistakes this for the end.
Especially not Jack.
He stands on the balcony of the packhouse hours later, shirt changed but still stained faintly with blood at the collar.
The night air is cool.
Sharp.
Silent.
Too silent.
Below, the pack celebrates quietly.
Relief.
Laughter.
Food.
Children finally allowed out of the bunkers.
Mates reunited.
Families whole.
Jack should feel relief.
Pride.
Satisfaction.
Instead—
He feels watched.
“You’re doing
