(Solomon’s POV)
The decision to hunt a monster is easy.
Living long enough to reach it?
That’s where men—and wolves—fail.
The Northern Ridge
By the time we reached the northern ridge, the sky had begun to pale at the edges, dawn threatening to break through the night like a blade.
Vincent’s choice of location was strategic.
High ground. Narrow access paths. Natural rock barriers.
Defensible.
But not safe.
Not from something like Alaric.
The pack moved with exhaustion weighing every step. The wounded were laid out carefully beneath makeshift coverings, healers already working with what little energy they had left.
No one spoke louder than necessary.
Because everyone felt it.
We weren’t retreating.
We were being repositioned.
The Quiet Before Strategy
I stood overlooking the
