The courtyard still stank of blood when Aria’s wolves dragged the last of the bodies into the pyre. Smoke curled up into the night sky, mixing with the city’s neon haze. The fight had left them ragged, bandaged, bleeding—but not broken.
Aria stood before the fire, blade at her side, her breath sharp in the cold. The lieutenant’s black cleaver lay at her feet, its silver edge slick with blood. She nudged it with her boot. A trophy, but also a warning.
“They’ll come again,” Aries said. His voice was rough, steady, carved by years of war. “Not hounds next time. Wolves. Packs that think Kane is the answer.”
“Then we’ll meet them before they gather,” Aria replied, her eyes burning gold in the firelight. “We don’t wait for them to tear us apart. We go to the streets. We rally the ones Kane fo
