Rissa’s POV

“Choose carefully.”

Teresa’s voice slides across the broken basin like poison.

“The wolf. The wounded man. Or the child.”

I stare at her across the widening trench, fury so sharp it feels clean.

Then I look at Mark.

He stands on the other side of the split earth, dust coating his skin, chest rising hard. One hand is stretched toward me.

“Rissa,” he says. “Now.”

Josh grips the rock behind me, blood soaking the side of his shirt, face pale but stubbornly ...