The roar of the Nightfang engines was a discordant symphony against the natural silence of the forest. I could feel them—their aggression, their discipline, and the cold, unyielding weight of Ryker’s authority—pressing against the perimeter of the rogue camp. They didn't come with the chaos of the rogues I had fought earlier; they moved like a scalpel, precise and lethal.
"They’ve crossed the Iron Threshold," Darian said, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating growl as he stood beside me. The Iron Threshold was the unofficial border where the rogue territories met the formalized pack lands. To cross it in force was an act of war.
I looked at my palms. The celestial white glow had settled into a steady hum beneath my skin. For the first time, the silence of my wolf didn't feel like a vo
