The council chamber had become a war room.
In the seventy-two hours since Ember's arrival, Silver Fang had transformed from a pack compound into a military headquarters. The maps on the walls — once territorial references, administrative tools for tracking patrol routes and hunting grounds — were now covered in red marks. Each mark was a pack. Each pack was a target. And the marks were multiplying.
Cedar Falls — destroyed. The red X was drawn in Marcus's steady hand, the ink still fresh.
Mountain Ridge — dark. No communication in forty-eight hours. A scouting party of three wolves had been dispatched and hadn't returned.
Pine Hollow — refugees arriving at the southern border. Twelve wolves, mostly women and children, carrying nothing but the clothes on their backs and stories of fire i
