WESLEY’S POV
The night pressed close around Moonshade’s stronghold, heavy and watchful, as if the shadows themselves leaned in to listen. The command hall burned with torchlight, smoke curling thick and acrid above us. My wolves gathered in silence, the air trembling with the weight of expectation.
Then they arrived.
The scouts. My spies. My so-called unseen eyes and silent ears. They stumbled through the doors like beggars crawling home after a storm. The first of them—the lead barely stood upright. His fur clung to him in clumps of blood and dirt, one eye swollen shut, his gait uneven. Behind him came the rest, limping, shaking, their armor dented, their claws dulled and cracked. The stink of fear clung to them like a curse, and it hit me like a blow.
My wolves should never have retu
