The first strike came at dawn.

Not against the academy itself, but against one of our supply routes. A caravan bringing medical supplies and winter provisions from allied territory, ambushed three miles from our borders.

Eight wolves dead. The supplies burned or scattered.

"He's testing our response times," Caleb said, marking the attack location on the map. "Seeing how fast we can mobilize when he hits peripheral targets."

"It's working." I stared at the marker. Eight more names. Eight ...