Wounded Honor.
Caleb’s POV
The ash still lingered in the morning air.
It wasn’t thick—just enough to remind us that fires had burned here. That blood had been spilled. That peace, however fragile, had come at a cost.
I moved through the forest with a slow, measured pace, every step testing the earth for hidden threats. The war was over, but rogues didn’t vanish overnight. They scattered like cockroaches—retreating into shadows and thickets, waiting to regroup, to test our defenses once again.
And so we patrolled.
Rowan had ordered rotating shifts. I’d volunteered for the first.
“I’ll take the Crescent Fangs,” I’d said. “We know the rogue trails better than anyone.”
Rowan hadn’t argued. He trusted me now—really trusted me—and that knowledge sat warm in my chest like the last embers
