The great hall of Silvercrest reeked of smoke and iron. Fires burned too bright in the braziers, too hot for the mild evening. Alpha Roran sat at the head of the long oak table, his hand clenched around the armrest as though the wood itself might betray him if he let go. The air was thick — not just with heat, but with the kind of tension that made wolves bare their teeth even in silence.
Beta Garrick stood a few paces behind him, his expression carved from stone. He'd been through too many battles to flinch at the restless energy of his Alpha, but even he could sense the shift — the slow, gathering storm Roran was feeding.
Elder Taren leaned forward from his seat, eyes shadowed. "We've lost contact with our northern scouts. Three of them vanished without a trace. Blackridge is moving closer to the borders."
"Good," Roran said, the word coming out like a growl. "Let them come. We'll meet them with claws and fire."
The elders shifted uneasily. Elder Miriam's calm voice rose, breaking through the heavy silence. "Alpha, perhaps it's not war they seek. Blackridge may be expanding their patrols because of the rogue sightings near Shadowfen territory."
Roran's fist slammed down on the table, rattling the tankards. "You think I don't know their games? Kael Thorn has always wanted our borders — our lands — our wolves. He's testing us. I'll not sit idle while that mountain brute creeps closer."
The elders quieted, cowed by his fury. Garrick watched in silence, his jaw tightening. Kael Thorn, he thought grimly. He'd heard whispers — of how Kael's warriors were sighted near the borders not long before Amara's return. Of how Elara Hale had vanished that same night. Too many coincidences.
But he kept his thoughts buried deep.
Moments later, the great doors creaked open. Amara stepped inside.
Her gait was uneven, her face shadowed by bruises, her arm wrapped tightly in bandages. Every mark was deliberate — placed with careful, brutal precision. The scent of blood still clung faintly to her skin. She knelt before Roran, eyes downcast in submission.
"My Alpha," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "I've returned."
Roran rose from his chair, eyes narrowing as he looked her over. "You were gone three days longer than ordered. I should demand to know why."
Amara bowed her head deeper. "The rogues were more cunning than expected. They ambushed us — I barely escaped."
Lies, smooth and sharp as glass. Garrick's doing.
Roran circled her like a predator assessing a kill. His gaze traced the bruises, the split lip, the faint tremor in her hands. "You fought well, then."
"I fought for Silvercrest," Amara said softly.
He nodded once. "You'll tell the pack what happened — that rogues ambushed your patrol near the northern ridge. Make them afraid, but not hopeless. Fear keeps wolves alert."
Amara's eyes flicked up for the briefest second, catching Garrick's. There was a flash of understanding there — a silent pact forged in necessity.
When Roran finally dismissed them, the hall emptied like a lung exhaling after holding its breath too long. Garrick followed Amara out into the cool night air, the quiet hum of crickets a stark contrast to the roaring heat inside.
He spoke first. "You played your part well."
Amara flexed her bruised arm, wincing. "I had to. If he even suspected the truth…"
"He won't," Garrick said, his tone measured. "The story's tight. The elders will back it if questioned."
She leaned against the wall, exhaustion pulling at her features. "How bad is it?"
Garrick's eyes drifted toward the dark line of the forest beyond the walls — where Roran's scouts had begun setting traps, where soldiers drilled in secret under moonlight. "Worse than I thought," he admitted quietly. "He's calling on every able-bodied wolf. The forge has been working nonstop. He says it's for defense — but I've seen the maps."
"Maps?"
"Marked with Blackridge borders," Garrick said grimly. "He's planning something — a strike, maybe a full invasion. He's convinced Kael's already moved against us."
Amara's throat tightened. "And Elara?"
At that, Garrick turned to her, his eyes softening for the first time. "Gone," he said. "Officially, she fled. Roran believes she's run off to the Shadowfen. It's better that way."
Amara's chest ached with guilt. She had lied, bled, and deceived to make sure Elara reached safety — and now the lie had become a fire that might burn the whole pack.
"She's alive, isn't she?" Garrick asked quietly, searching her face.
Amara hesitated. "…Yes. She's safe. For now."
He nodded once, the faintest hint of relief crossing his features. "Then let's keep it that way."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The moonlight fell silver over the courtyard, painting their shadows long and broken across the cobblestones.
Finally, Amara broke the silence. "You know what happens if Roran starts a war he can't win."
"I do," Garrick murmured. "Silvercrest falls. The old alliances shatter. The bloodline ends with him."
"Then we stop him," she said, voice low, fierce.
Garrick gave a faint, humorless smile. "You talk like a wolf who still believes in reason."
Amara looked toward the Alpha's quarters where torchlight burned behind heavy curtains. "I don't believe in reason anymore," she said. "I believe in survival."
Above them, the wind stirred — carrying with it the faint, faraway howl of a wolf. Not Silvercrest. Not Blackridge. Something older, wild, untamed.
And deep in her bones, Amara knew the war had already begun.