Amelia
The footage spread like wildfire. Grainy, high-contrast clips of rogue packs clashing with Richard’s patrols on the southern border. Angry shouting, snapping jaws, bodies thrown and pinned and bloodied. The kind of thing people didn’t need context for. They just needed to feel scared.
David had held a rally hours before. He stood on a crude wooden stage with flags snapping behind him, shouting about purity and strength and borders that had grown too soft. The crowd roared like they'd been starving for violence. By morning, packs that had been living quietly in border towns were in open conflict with anyone in uniform. The footage was already spliced into fear-mongering ads by the time we finished breakfast. One of them even used my face from an old interview, framed beside a burni
