Lucian stood straight, his golden braid swinging slightly with motion. His wolfish grin stretched.

“Next time,” he said coolly, “Don’t play with me like you’re ready.”

The instructors didn’t even intervene.

Not yet.

The name Lucian Speare had weight. And fear.

He walked off like he’d brushed off dust.

Cadets parted.

Even senior wolves avoided his direct scent trail.

Elowyn had frozen in place, arms tensed.

She cringed.

But said nothing.

She looked like ...