KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

The scent of blood lingered on the wind, a sharp reminder of the price we had paid. I stood amidst the rubble, the charred earth beneath my feet a testament to the ferocity of the battle that had raged just hours before. My pack, my family, and my allies were gathered around me, our collective exhaustion palpable in the stillness that followed the storm of combat.

I could see it in their eyes-each one darkened with the weight of loss and weariness. Paul Biansky's hands were ...