The night after the battle was too quiet. The ruins of Ravenclaw's fortress still breathed smoke, and every gust of wind carried the scent of ash and blood. Evelyn stood on the high balcony where the moonlight washed over the broken walls. Below her, the pack was rebuilding, stacking stone, clearing the dead, and whispering prayers to the Moon Goddess for peace that no one truly believed would come.
Peace felt like a lie.
She traced her fingers along the bloodstained edge of her sword. The steel caught the silver light and shimmered faintly, a reflection of the promise she had made to herself — that she would never let what happened here repeat. Not while she still breathed.
Behind her, soft footsteps approached. George stopped at the doorway, his face lined with exhaustion and soot. "They've cleared the eastern wing," he said. "Half the walls can still be saved, but it will take weeks. Maybe months."
Evelyn nodded, not looking at him. "And the scouts?"
