Damon’s POV

The wind carried the smell of iron and smoke long before the scouts returned. It was faint at first, a whisper beneath the scent of pine and morning dew — but I knew it. I had lived it before. Blood. War. Betrayal.

I stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of the Winchester pack house, my hands gripping the stone rail. Below, my warriors trained in silence, their movements sharp and measured. The peace we had fought for, the fragile calm Aria and I had built with our ...