Patrick entered the ritual chamber stripped of rank, weapons, and certainty. The room was stone, circular, windowless built generations ago for one purpose: to expose a wolf’s core without offering a single place to hide. Torches lined the walls, flames steady, shadows sharp. The scent of old trials clung to the air: sweat, earth, fear, something metallic from the countless candidates who had broken here.

Kane stood at the far end, posture relaxed, authority coiled and waiting. He didn’t speak as Patrick stepped inside. He let silence work its pressure. Kane understood silence the way most Alphas understood claws; he used it as a blade. Patrick felt that blade now,...