The morning after the storm, Silvercrest felt like a graveyard.

The air hung thick with the scent of scorched earth and cold rain. Smoke rose in thin, spiraling trails from the battlefield, mingling with the fog that had crept back from Ghostwood. The wolves moved silently among the ruins, their eyes hollow with exhaustion and disbelief.

For the first time in generations, Silvercrest had survived the night — but at a price no one could name.

Evelyn stood on the steps of the manor, her ...