Nolan POV
The borderlands had changed since the last time I crossed them.
The roads were narrower now, the trees thick with fog, and the air carried that strange metallic tang that always clung to rogue territory — not quite danger, not quite decay, but the uneasy in-between.
I moved carefully, hood drawn low. The old truck I’d borrowed rattled along the ruts, its headlights slicing through mist. To anyone watching, I looked like just another traveler — a trader or courier, not a pack Alpha.
The illusion worked. No one looked twice.
But as the miles slipped by, a tightness grew in my chest. The rogue lands were more than a lawless sprawl; they were the border between order and chaos, a reminder of everything a wolf could lose.
I’d spent years ensuring Silver Fang never ended up like
