The first light of dawn bled faintly through the heavy canopy, silver against the thick blanket of snow. The camp was quiet, but the tension never left, it lingered like frost clinging to every branch, every stone, every wolf in our ranks. Nights like this had taught me that danger rarely arrived announced. It came in whispers, in shadows, and in the way the wind shifted before anything moved.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, my cloak dusted with snow, eyes scanning the horizon. The rogue wolves moved through their morning routines with careful precision, distributing rations, reinforcing patrols, and signaling without words. Every action was deliberate, every gaze alert. I had expected scouts, but intelligence suggested something more, a coordinated effort by Red Hollow and possibly
