Evelyn Blackwood had not slept.
The makeshift clinic in the Blackclaw central lodge was quiet now—the wounded were resting, their bandages fresh, their breathing steady. But Evelyn stood at the window, staring out at the dark, moonlit valley, her mind refusing to settle.
She had done what she came to do. The pack was stable. The temporary council had been formed. The young wolf, Damon, had proven himself capable and eager to lead. Everything was in order.
But the letter in her pocket burned like a live coal.
She pulled it out and read it again for the tenth time. The parchment was simple, unmarked, and the handwriting was sharp and precise—no signature, no seal, no clue as to its origin.
“You saved the wolves, but you forgot the dragons. Lilith’s remnant is gathering the black blood.
