My feet hammer against the stone path as I run for Silverpaw, wind cold on my throat, the world around me vanishing in a consuming veil of fog. The paths I retrace are strangers now, the once-familiar turns warped by mist into corridors of half-seen shapes and pools of shadow. Even my werewolf vision, sharp and precise, turns up only fragments—a hedge here, a glisten of wet stone there, but always the fog closing in again, cutting off sight, choking the landmarked campus I'm beginning to know.
I clear the ancient oak at the edge of the eastern gardens and main courtyard, a touch of satisfaction in the length of my stride. The dew-slick stone threatens to take me down, but I’m running with everything my father's Alpha line gave me, speed and surety in every muscle, Ari Blackwater shed in t
