Amelia
The first strike hit Havenford, a river town so small it didn’t appear on most maps. One road in, one out, a single crumbling water tower, and a bridge that had collapsed and been half-rebuilt five times in four years.
Three wolves showed up early in the morning wearing scavenged gear and moving like seasoned medics. They had no sigil, no Pack standard, but they spoke the language. They offered help with repairs, rebuilt a section of the bridge, passed out medical supplies in labeled kits we later traced to a defunct aid agency.
They smiled, shared meals, and called the elders by name. By the time the sun slipped behind the ridge, they had murdered two respected elders and burned the town’s entire grain storage.
By the time the nearest patrol arrived, Havenford was frozen in sho
