Night settled over Blackridge like a held breath.
The pack felt it.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But awareness.
Lyra stood at the center of the clearing, her presence anchoring the pack as wolves gathered in a wide circle. Torches burned low, casting long shadows that flickered against bark and bone.
Marcus stepped up beside her.
“You called everyone.”
Lyra nodded once.
“They need to hear this.”
Marcus glanced around.
“They can already feel it.”
Lyra’s voice carried—calm, steady, unmistakably Alpha.
“Silence.”
The murmurs died instantly.
Silence answered her.
“There are movements beyond our borders,” she said. “Not just the Crimson Fang.”
A ripple passed through the pack.
Marcus folded his arms.
“Then who?”
Lyra’s gaze hardened slightly.
“Something older.”
That word landed.
Ol
