Axel shakes his head. “That’s exactly what he’s talking about.”
Nyx nods once. “Red wolves mistake isolation for protection,” he says, “and they mistake endurance for control.”
I drag a hand through my hair, frustration flaring sharp and hot. “You make it sound like a choice.”
“It is,” Nyx replies, meeting my gaze steadily, “even when it doesn’t feel like one.”
Axel leans forward, palms braced on the table. “What about the vampires,” he asks, cutting through the tension, “what are they trying to raise.”
Nyx’s expression hardens just a fraction. “That,” he says carefully, “is where the history becomes dangerous.”
He flips a few pages, stopping on a marked section, and the air in the room seems to sharpen as he reads. “There are entities tied to the red moon,” he explains, “ancient one
