Kane’s POV

The smell hits me first. Not blood—blood I know. Blood has weight, heat, and iron. This is something else. Burned marrow. Ash ground so fine it coats the back of my throat when I breathe too deeply.

The allied pack’s territory is silent. Not the peaceful kind. Not the quiet that comes after victory or even after grief. This is absence. A place where sound itself has learned not to linger.

I crouch near what used to be the inner hall. Stone is split clean through, as if ...