Avery approached the final relic-weaver’s den in the Silver Ridge.

Tucked away in a cavernous alcove of the market, the shop of ancient pelts and lunar-spun silks had stood for generations. It was the hour of the fading sun, the time when the pack-sentries changed shifts, and the shop was nearly hollow.

The mistress of the den was a striking wolf, her silver-grey fur sleek even in her human form, radiating a cold, predatory beauty. Avery had scented her reputation through the pack-link: Molly Evans, a high-born artisan who had once rejected the Montgomery’s own weavers.

Avery held up her communication stone, detailing her need to learn the "Shadow-Stitch"—the only...