The northern border of Ember pack was unusually quiet. Don narrowed his eyes, his wolf pacing within him as the faint sound of rustling leaves teased his ears. He had sensed movement, swift, purposeful, yet cautious, as though whoever it was didn’t want to be seen. His grip on his sword tightened.

For a moment, he thought he saw the outline of a figure slipping through the mist that clung to the treeline. The shape was faint, but familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.

His wolf growled low, unsettled. It can’t be…

Don blinked, but when his gaze sharpened again, the figure was gone, swallowed by the...