A week had passed since Dara's death.
A week of mourning, of healing, of slowly piecing themselves back together. The camp had returned to something resembling normal life. Wolves trained in the mornings, their bodies pushing through exhaustion and grief. Vampires patrolled the perimeter at night, their ancient eyes watching for threats that had not yet materialized. Hybrids tended the gardens, planted new crops, repaired the buildings that had been damaged in the attack. Life went on because life always went on.
But beneath the surface, beneath the routine and the ordinary moments, a current of tension hummed through the camp like a plucked wire. Everyone could feel it. Everyone knew what it meant. Lilith was gone, but she was not defeated. Not permanently.
"She will be back." Morgana
