The camp was quieter than usual that night.
Not the kind of quiet that meant peace.
The kind that meant thinking.
Rogues sat around the fire pits in small groups, their voices low as they talked. Some sharpened blades. Others cleaned the weapons we had gathered over the last few weeks. A few wolves simply watched the darkness beyond the camp’s perimeter.
Everyone had heard about the Red Hollow scout.
Nothing stayed secret long among wolves who had survived alone.
I sat on a fallen log near the central fire, staring into the flames while the heat brushed lightly against my skin. The fire crackled softly, sparks rising into the cold air before fading into the darkness above.
Across from me, Mira leaned back on her palms, her expression thoughtful.
“So,” she said after a while, “a nor
