The smoke came at dawn.
It curled over the treetops like fingers clawing at the sky—thick, black, and too fast for coincidence. The wolves in Kael’s camp had barely returned to their dens after the dominance ritual. Blood still marked the arena stones. My body still trembled from the knot he’d given me there.
I was wrapped in furs by the fire when Dren stormed into the den.
“North border’s been breached.”
Kael rose from where he’d been sharpening a blade. No hesitation. Just a flash of silver eyes and stillness that meant danger.
“How many?” he asked.
Dren looked at me, then away. “More than we’ve seen before. Armed. Organized.”
Kael didn’t flinch. “Rebels?”
Dren nodded. “And they’ve got one of ours. Micah. Taken alive.”
Kael’s jaw flexed.
“They’re not here for war,” he muttered.
