The convoy rolled back into our hidden ravine just as the toxic sun began to set.
We hadn't returned with fuel tankers. We hadn't returned with victory. We had returned with a busload of traumatized, shivering, and starving children.
The camp was silent as the trucks unloaded. The Forgotten Pack—hardened warriors who killed for scraps—stared at the little ones with wide eyes.
"We have twenty-two new mouths to feed," Magda grunted, spitting on the ground. "And half the fuel we started with. This is a disaster."
"No," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. I stepped off the back of the truck, wiping soot from my face. "This is a pack."
I looked at the chaos. Children were crying. Some were injured. Others were just sitting in the ash, too scared to move.
I didn't wait for
