Dawn crept over the ridge like a wound reopening. Smoke still drifted through the trees, ribbons of gray against a bruised-pink sky. The forest that had once sung with life was now quiet except for the low moans of the injured and the crackle of dying fires. Ash clung to everything—skin, fur, the ruined banners of Moonshadow.

Bella moved through it slowly. Her palms glowed faintly, gold light seeping through torn gloves as she pressed them over a warrior’s chest wound. The man ...