Two hours later, the pack was fully mobilized.
The courtyard of the Academy was transformed into a massive, concentric magical array. Three hundred wolves of the integration school stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes closed, their breathing synchronized. Silas, his arm still heavily bandaged, stood at the northern point, his amber eyes glowing with fierce determination. He was no longer the Purist elder; he was a vanguard commander, holding the northern quadrant of the lattice with a strength that belied his age.
Morgan and her team had set up mobile dampening generators around the perimeter, designed to mask the magical output from human satellites while allowing the pack to project a localized kinetic shield.
But the most critical piece of the defense wasn't in the courtyard. It wa
