The crisp morning air bit at my skin as I stood at the edge of the Greenwood training grounds, the first pale rays of dawn bleeding through the dark canopy of the forest. The damp earth smelled of pine, heavy dew, and the underlying, electric scent of dozens of anxious wolves.

By 5:00 AM, the field was already packed.

For the first time in two years, the warriors of the White Stone Pack, the Greenwood Pack, and Jared’s northern fighters were standing on the same dirt. But they weren't standing together. They were divided into distinct, tense factions, watching each other like stray dogs competing for a scrap of meat....