The moon hung low over the Blood Rose pack, casting pale light over the broken ground. The aftermath of the rogue attack was everywhere. There were smashed carts, blood-stained earth, and the sounds of groaning from the injured echoing through the night.
But Ethan barely noticed any of it.
His boots were soaked in blood and mud as he moved from tent to tent, searching. He was frantically calling her name, hoping against hope for a voice, a touch, or even a sign.
“Adiana!” he called again, breathless, his voice hoarse from shouting.
There was no answer, just the cry of a child nearby, with the heavy silence of loss settling over the camp like fog.
He turned a corner and found an elderly healer bent over a young girl, binding a deep gash on her arm. Ethan dropped to his knees beside the
