Caleb's confession came out in pieces, the way old wounds always bled — slow at first, then all at once.

"His name is Corin," he said. "We trained together, before I ever swore to the Blood Moon pack. He was Night Owl born. Hardin's cousin." He dragged a hand down his face. "I thought he died in the border skirmish two winters back. I mourned him, Xavier. I put a stone up for him."

"And now?" Xavier's voice had gone dangerously quiet.

"Now I've seen him in a hood, kneeling over a blood sigil in a stairwell that isn't supposed to exist." Caleb's jaw tightened. "He's alive. He's been alive....