The morning after the dinner, the Ironwood territory felt… different.
The hostility hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted. It was no longer the sharp, aggressive disdain of predators looking at prey. It was the wary, respectful distance of predators looking at something that might bite back.
I walked through the compound toward the training grounds. I wasn't supposed to be here. My job was done. The wards were holding. But Guilermo had insisted I stay for debriefing, which I suspected was just code for "I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m sure Sibal isn't waiting in the bushes."
The training ground was a large, flat expanse of beaten earth surrounded by towering pines. It smelled of sweat, leather, and exertion.
Wolves were sparring. Some in human form, some shifted. The sound
