Dip, squeeze, drag—simple rules. I know how to survive tasks with instructions this clear. Wolves thrive on structure; it's everything else that kills them.
Tables and benches stand at attention, neat and unwavering, where just a few hours ago the energy of Silverpaw’s student body had rippled and crashed, full of jostling limbs and shouted insults. Now the hush presses in, the high ceiling bouncing back only the faintest echoes. Only one pocket of life remains—a knot of students at the far table, huddled behind their ramparts of open books and whispered strategy.
I stand in the entry, mop and bucket in hand, feeling like I’ve been armed with the world’s most useless weapons. The ache from Ulric’s “training” rides low in my bones, dull but constant, and beneath it, the anxiety of Archer’
