The stronghold slept uneasily that night.

Wounded wolves filled the healer’s hall, groaning beneath poultices and bandages, while the fires in the courtyard burned low, casting long, watchful shadows. Even the youngest pups, usually restless and untamable, clung close to their mothers’ sides as though sensing the danger pressing in on all of them.

But Draven Kaelith did not sleep.

He stood at the highest watchpoint of the fortress wall, cloak snapping against the cold night wind, golden ...