The tension in the Blackwood camp was suffocating. Days had passed since the destruction of the Obsidian Fang, and though the pack had gained a momentary reprieve, it felt like the calm before a deadly storm. The forest, usually vibrant with energy and life, was subdued, its whispers faint and hesitant, as though it too was recovering from the blow it had dealt.

Lyla sat near the edge of the clearing, staring out at the trees. The weight of the Fang’s destruction still pressed heavily on ...