The smoke still lingered by dawn. Black streaks curled across the training grounds where the fire had raged, the earth scorched and clawed as if some beast had ripped its way free. Wolves whispered in tight clusters, their voices low and fearful, glancing often at the pack house as if the walls themselves might betray them.

Bella stood on the balcony outside her chamber, wrapped in Alfred’s cloak, watching the rising sun stain the ruins in shades of crimson. Her chest ached with unease. The ...