The sky above Silverclaw’s territory shimmered with the faint gold of dawn, but the pack grounds were already humming with anticipation. Messengers had departed the night before, racing through the territories to deliver the rare call for a Territory Conclave. Ashyra stood at the edge of the training fields, arms crossed as warriors filed into position—rows of bodies, alert and ready.
Stephan approached from behind, his scent carried on the crisp air. “Your pack moves like a single blade,” he said, voice almost admiring.
Ashyra didn’t turn. “We’ve had to. Silverclaw’s never been big, but we’re tight-knit. We train for unity.”
Stephan fell in beside her. “Nightshade trains for endurance. Efficiency. But I’m beginning to think we’ve missed something in that.”
She gave him a glance. “Like
