Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tristan’s POV
The forest was a cathedral of shadow and sound — the air sharp with frost, the earth alive beneath our paws. Every beat of my heart was a drum against the silence, every breath a plume of vapor swallowed by the night.
We ran as one.
Four wolves. Four halves of a single purpose.
Mark, all golden muscle and fury, took the lead, crashing through the underbrush like a living storm.
Rhael flanked him, silver-black and sleek, silent and precise, his movements all razor edges and contained violence.
Leo followed, the steady pulse in our rhythm — his white wolf glowing faintly, power radiating outward in ripples that steadied our pack link.
And me — the last. The shadow between them. The bond to her.
The scent trail pulled us deeper — iron, rot, and some
