Keith

The breeze carries the scent of pine, damp moss, and the faintest edge of nerves from my pack as they go about their afternoon routines. Even without looking, I can feel the uncertainty lingering in the air like static clinging to fur. They took the news earlier better than I expected—no panic, no anger—but still… there’s tension.

They’re preparing for a war they never imagined. And they’re welcoming Lycans—creatures they thought were either extinct or stories told to pups to keep them from wandering too far.

They will adjust, my wolf rumbles confidently. They are strong. They are ours.

Yeah. But strength doesn’t erase centuries of belief overnight.

I...