The northern gate stood open when I arrived, torches lining both sides of the road, casting long shadows across the crowd already gathering. Word traveled fast in pack lands. Word about a challenge traveled faster.
Bren stood at the center, flanked by armed men from three border packs. Beside him stood a woman I had not seen in fifteen years.
She looked older than I remembered. Grayer. Thinner. But her eyes, when they found mine across the crowd, held the same quiet sorrow I remembered from childhood, the sorrow she wore even when she thought no one was watching.
"Mother," I said, the word feeling foreign in my mouth after so many years of silence.
"Morgan," she said softly. "You have grown into someone I barely recognize."
"Whose fault is that," I said, sharper than I intended.
Bren
