Chapter 13 The Edge Of Trust

It is cold and gray at dawn, a thin fog hugging the ground like a shroud. I’m standing on the edge of the training yard, arms crossed tightly around myself as I watch the pack, moving in restless silence. The stink of those evil wolves is still up in my nose, a fleshy rot that ain’t never going away, and the shadows at my feet are twitching, twitching, like they’re waiting for something to snap. I don’t sleep—I can’t, not with the council’s camp just behind the trees, a dark smear against the horizon. Morgan’s been up all night as well, pacing the pack house, barking orders, his silver eyes sharp with a fury I’ve never encountered. Now he’s out there, chatting with Clara and a few others around the fire pit, their voices low and urgent. I pick up bits — scouts, perimeter, council — but nothing I can grasp. My stomach’s knotted, tightening every time I think about those wolves, their yellow eyes, how they moved like something broken and wrong.