POV Alpha Jackson
The transition from the Diamond Moon forest to the outskirts of the Whispering Valley wasn't marked by a fence or a signpost. It was marked by the air. It shifted from the crisp, pine-laden scent of our home to something ancient, humid, and heavy with the smell of ozone and crushed lilies. Every step forward felt like wading through invisible silk, a resistance that didn't push back against the body, but against the soul.
I stopped at the edge of the ravine, my hand raised in a silent, sharp signal. Behind me, sixty wolves halted with a precision that would have made me proud a week ago, but now it only made my chest ache. There was no clatter of gear, no heavy panting, no restless shifting of paws. But there was no "Ghost Phase" silence either. That artificial, suffoca
