Six months after we put the Hunger in the dirt, I was standing on a freezing balcony in a city that didn't technically exist on any human GPS.
We’d successfully dragged another ghost out of the history books.
The Andes. These wolves called themselves the Condor line. They’d been holed up in the altitude-thin air since before the Makers even crashed, predating the Unbound by a massive margin. They had zero concept of the Origin Bond, the Remaking, or the fact that a Silver Wolf had basically just rebooted the planet's operating system. Five thousand years of total radio silence.
Until we knocked on the door.
Cassian walked out onto the concrete holding two ceramic mugs. Six months of practice, and his coffee was still aggressively terrible. I took the mug and drank the lukewarm sludge w
