Chapter Forty-Six
The forest was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The remnants of battle lay scattered in the undergrowth, branches snapped, soil torn by claws, and the lingering scent of blood faint but unmistakable. Lyra walked among the pack, ears alert, eyes sharp. The wolves padded around her, their instincts tense, muscles coiled, waiting for her guidance. But today’s exercise was not for survival—it was for control, for testing, for understanding.
Cain followed behind, dark and massive, every movement precise, every sense alert. He had been watching Lyra closely for the past two days, noting subtle changes in the pack’s alignment, noticing how some wolves instinctively shifted closer to her presence. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing whenever her silver wolf moved ahead of him.
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