The forest knew before the wolves did.
Snow shifted where it shouldn’t have. Birds lifted in uneasy silence. The wind carried unfamiliar scent—old aggression, dried blood, hunger sharpened into purpose.
Three wolves moved through the trees in a loose triangle, their paws light but not careless. They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to. This wasn’t an attack.
It was a test.
The lead wolf—scarred along the shoulder, muzzle grayed from age or stress—paused at the edge of a shallow ravine. His ears flicked back once, twice.
Hale’s Crest, he thought grimly. Strong land. Strong scent.
Behind him, the second wolf huffed quietly, breath fogging in the cold. Younger. Eager. Too eager.
The third lingered farther back, eyes constantly moving, tracking shadows and listening for sounds that didn’t
