I cupped my face tightly in my hands, my tears streaming uncontrollably as I sat in the sterile waiting room of the medical barracks, the air thick with the stench of antiseptic and fear.

The frantic nurses rushing by, the muffled cries of other injured pack members, the distant echoes of the attack's aftermath—stirred a gut-wrenching sense of déjà vu. It was just like before, that nightmarish replay of helplessness and loss, tearing my insides apart like claws ripping through flesh.

My heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the horror we'd just endured.

“This is my fault,” I muttered hoarsely, my voice barely a whisper, choked with guilt and...