The morning after Lyla's trial, the air was crisp, the kind of cool that kissed her skin but hinted at a lurking chill. Sunlight streamed through the canopy of Silverwood, painting golden patterns on the ground as she trudged toward the pack’s central gathering point. Every step reminded her of the sleepless night she’d endured. Yet, despite the exhaustion, she felt alive more so than she had in years.

Her trial in the forest wasn’t just a test of survival; it had awoken something in ...