The morning arrived bitter and pale, filtered through the thick blanket of snow that still clung stubbornly to the forest. Frost glazed every branch, and the ground underfoot crunched sharply with each step, carrying the scent of pine and ice. The rogue camp stirred slowly. Wolves emerged from their dens, stretching, yawning, and moving with the precision of a unit that had learned discipline under my watchful guidance.
I moved through the camp, boots sinking slightly in the snow, fingers brushing the hilt of my dagger. Tarek walked beside me, silent but ever watchful. Mira followed a few paces behind, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon and the trees, picking up every subtle movement, every sound that might hint at approaching danger. The air was tense, heavy, as if the forest itself ant
