Rhys

We’ve put miles between us and Silver Fang territory by the time the moon climbs high enough to silver the treetops.

Not enough for comfort—but enough that the air starts to feel different. Less sharp. Less hunted.

Still, I don’t slow the pace until Stevie finally raises a fist and the line eases to a stop on a shallow ridge overlooking a narrow valley. The people we pulled out are barely holding together. Exhaustion hangs on them heavier than fear now. Pups whimper softly, adults slump where they stand, and even the warriors move like their bones are filled with sand.

Among them, Lina keeps going.

She walks steadily,...