Lydia’s POV)

The night was painted in red.

From her perch at the edge of the eastern cliffs, Lydia watched the full moon rise, a molten disc dripping scarlet light across the forest canopy. The river below shimmered like a wound that refused to close, and the wind carried the scent of smoke from the distant Grove. Somewhere far beyond those trees, the pack’s fate was shifting.

Her heart beat in time with the pulse of the earth — heavy, uneven, angry.

It wasn’t supposed to be this ...