Two days after the sparring session, the world turned silver.
It wasn't a metaphor. A Silver Squall is a rare meteorological event where the atmospheric pressure caused natural silver deposits in the Hollows to vaporize and drift across the border had descended on the forest. For witches, it was just a headache. For wolves, it was a biological weapon.
The Pack House was on lockdown. The shutters were closed, the ventilation filtered.
But the surroundings still needed to be patrolled.
I was in the infirmary, organizing supplies when the radio crackled to life.
"Alpha down! Rogue contact!"
The voice was Thelma, panicked and breathless.
I didn't think. I grabbed my bag and ran.
I met the response team at the garage. They were suiting up in heavy, lead-lined gear to protect against the
