The hinges screamed.
It wasn’t a dramatic sound. Not a roar. Just metal protesting as it was forced to do something it had been built to prevent.
The gate crept open inch by inch, the torchlight spilling out into the smoke-choked treeline like an invitation.
Lyra stood at the threshold.
Behind her, the pack held its breath.
In front of her, the forest waited.
The truth-tellers stopped a few paces from the opening—five of them. Wolves, Lyra recognized. Not leaders. Not fighters. Ordinary pack members who had learned, too late, that silence was more dangerous than honesty.
They didn’t look brave.
They looked resigned.
Tyler moved up beside Lyra, his presence a solid weight. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t need to. The bond was tight enough to ache, stretched between command and trust
