The south camp was a smoking ruin by the time Reign arrived.
Tents lay collapsed and burned. Bodies were scattered across bloodstained snow. But these weren't Lyra's soldiers. These were the rogues she'd used as bait, discarded once they'd served their purpose.
Reign knelt beside one of the corpses. His throat had been slit cleanly, professionally. Not the kind of kill you made in combat. The kind you made to silence witnesses.
"She was here," her wolf observed.
"I know."
The scent trail led east, toward the old border territories. Lyra wanted her to follow, wanted this confrontation as badly as Reign did. Fine. They'd both get what they wanted.
But as Reign stood to follow, movement caught her eye. More rogues, emerging from the tree line. A dozen at least, maybe more. Their eyes he
