Kane’s POV

The first warning comes at dawn.

Not from a howl or a flare of power—but from silence.

I stand on the eastern watchtower as the sun crawls over the tree line, painting the forest in pale gold. Normally, at this hour, the land hums with small life. Birds stir. Wind brushes leaves. The territory breathes.

Today, it doesn’t.

My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless, hackles raised. He doesn’t like quiet like this. Neither do I.

I grip the stone railing and scan the horizon again. ...