The lodge still smelled like smoke.

By dawn, most of the flames had been smothered, though scorch marks carved the walls and rafters, ugly reminders of what I’d unleashed. Wolves worked in silence, replacing broken chairs, sweeping soot, scrubbing blood. Their movements were tight, furtive. No one looked at me. Not directly.

They didn’t have to.

I felt their stares anyway.

I stood near the back of the hall, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, the mark on my chest aching like a brand. Luka ...