NORTHRIDGE PARK
Alpha Logan stood in the grand council chamber, his gaze like a blade against the polished stone floor. The massive space was dimly lit, the flickering torchlight making the carved wolf emblems on the walls seem almost alive. Two healers stood before him — the same men who had treated Freya when she was injured during the last rogue attack. Their cloaks were heavy with herbs, the air around them sharp with the scent of wolfsbane and sage.
“You’re certain?” Logan’s voice was deep, low, but carried the weight of command that could crush anyone who lied to him.
The elder of the two healers — an iron-haired man named Mirea — inclined his head. “We have traced the remnants of her scent and energy signature. She is… no longer within our realm.”
The second healer, younger but
