By the time we got back, the den felt split down the middle.
You could smell it before you stepped inside: not just the usual stew of wolves and woodsmoke, but two distinct currents under it. One sharp with fear and stubborn nostalgia. One raw with anger and something that might, on a good day, grow into hope.
Voices bled out into the yard.
“…reckless—”
“…children, Maera—”
“…you want Serin back in here with a scalpel?”
Niko’s shoulders hunched. Sela squeezed my hand.
“Stay behind me,” I murmured. “And if anyone starts yelling about fate, you have my permission to roll your eyes.”
He snorted, faint but real. “Already planned to.”
Inside, Maera stood at the center of the main room like the pivot of a storm. Around her, a tight ring of elders and senior wolves. Corren leaned against
