Amara’s Point of View
The room was thick with silence. Logan sat hunched forward on the bench, his hands pressed against his ribs.
His face was pale, but his anger burned hotter than his wounds. Dad paced back and forth, calm but sharp, every step echoing.
I stood near the window, staring at the courtyard outside, where the pack was still buzzing about the fight. The whispers had already started.
Logan broke the silence first. “I should’ve finished him. If they hadn’t stopped it, I could’ve turned it around.”
Dad didn’t even glance at him. “No. You were beaten.”
Logan snapped his head up. “So I’m weak now?”
Dad’s voice was flat. “You’re not weak. But what you fought wasn’t natural.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “He’s wolfless! That’s what they all say. How does someone with no wolf throw
