Zara Fen POV,
I stood before the primary weaving machine, my fingers trembling as I touched the empty heddles, there was no silver in storage, just the scent of sawdust and the crushing weight of a title I couldn't fulfill.
“The tension is everything, Zara.”
My father’s voice was so clear in my mind it made my breath hitch. I could see his hands and his thick-knuckled and perpetually stained with indigo fumbling in the dark of our old kitchen.
He had died during the Alpha wars, it was seventeen years ago when the packs shut down their borders over a dispute about water rights. I was only five yet I still remembered the moment the light left his eyes, not from injury alone, but from the weight of a warrior forced into stillness, unable to fight or defend his own. He died as a pack warr
