Knox's POV
The Hollow scouts attacked without warning.
They emerged from the darkness like shadows given form—twelve wolves wearing the brands of the Warden, their eyes empty, their movements synchronized. They moved like puppets, controlled by strings that none of us could see.
One moment we were huddled around the dying fire, the next the camp erupted into chaos. Blades flashed in the firelight, and the snow churned beneath the boots of wolves locked in combat.
The fight was brutal.
The scouts felt no pain, no fear. They fought to kill or be killed, their blades finding flesh with mechanical precision. Our warriors met them head-on, steel clashing against steel, the air filling with grunts and screams and the wet sound of wounds.
Fenris moved through the chaos like a ghost, his bla
