CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Whispers slither through the underbrush like serpents, each one more venomous than the last. The Silver Paws wolves gather in clusters, their low murmurs a dissonant chorus beneath the rustling leaves. I stand apart from them, my gaze fixed on the towering pines that encircle our territory like ancient sentinels. The air is thick with unease, and despite the cool shade, heat flickers at the tips of my fingers—an instinctive reaction to stress.
"Have you heard?" Gardenia's voice is a sharp blade slicing through the murmured speculations. She doesn't wait for an answer before continuing, "They're saying Tristan might be conspiring with the rogues."
The very suggestion sends a jolt through me. Tristan, with his light brown hair and hazel eyes that seem to see right thr
