Draven.
I sat behind my wide oak desk, the polished surface catching threads of pale morning light that crept in through tall windows.
The air in my study smelled faintly of old parchment, leather bindings, and the sharp tang of ink.
But beneath it, there was something else: the simmer of rage I'd been forcing myself to keep contained.
I didn't even have the appetite to eat properly earlier, as I usually did in my mornings—all because of this fucking hell hole called Duskmoor.
Jeffery stood across from me, holding out a thin sheaf of papers. A list of our people—wolves I had sworn to protect—who had nearly vanished off the face of this cursed city because of humans who thought they could hunt us like cattle.
I took the pages from him, the weight of the thin stack feeling far heavier than it looked. Each line told a story: an alley, a public restroom, a cab ride that nearly ended in chains.
