The evening meal was a subdued affair.

The three packs ate separately, old habits dying hard despite the progress made in the training fields. Crescent Moon wolves clustered at the long tables near the western windows, their dark clothing blending with the shadows. Jared's northern pack claimed the eastern side, their gray tactical vests hanging over the backs of their chairs. And my White Stone wolves—what remained of them—occupied the center, a buffer between the two rival factions.

I sat at the head of the center table, pushing a piece of bread around my plate without eating. Across the room, Luke was holding court with his warriors, his freshly bandaged...