The air smelled of iron and smoke.

From the balcony of the Alpha’s hall, Bella watched as the fires along the border burned low, sending plumes of gray into the dawn. The night had been long—longer than any battle Alfred had ever fought. The wolves who returned carried wounds not only on their bodies but in their hearts.

And beneath the low hum of mourning, she could feel it—something breaking.

The pack was no longer one voice.

Down in the courtyard, she heard them: whispers sharp as ...