Peace does not shatter loudly.
It cracks quietly.
The northern winds arrive colder than they should be. They carry no scent of prey, no trace of rival packs—only something hollow. Something wrong.
Aria feels it before anyone speaks of it.
Her silver wolf does not rest. It prowls endlessly beneath her skin, pacing like a storm trapped in flesh.
Watching. Waiting.
By dusk, the reports become impossible to ignore.
Scouts return—fewer than expected. Those who do come back are shaken, their movements stiff, their eyes distant.
“They’re not… normal,” one of them says, voice trembling. “We saw wolves—but they didn’t act like wolves. No pack scent. No hierarchy. Just… moving.”
“Moving how?” Kael presses, his tone sharp.
The scout hesitates.
“Like they were being led… but no Alpha was th
