Some wounds do not bleed.
They fracture.
The camp does not recover from Lyra’s betrayal.
It shifts.
Wolves who once stood side by side now keep their distance. Conversations die when others approach. Eyes linger too long… or avoid completely.
Trust is gone.
And without it—
Unity begins to crack.
Aria walks through the camp in silence.
No one stops her.
No one speaks.
They still bow.
They still follow.
But something has changed.
Belief has turned into fear.
⸻
Her silver wolf is restless again—not from danger this time, but from something deeper.
Loss.
Not of territory.
Of trust.
She stops near the edge of the clearing, watching the wounded being tended. Wolves who fought under her command. Wolves who trusted her to lead them.
Some of them didn’t make it.
Because someon
