The moon was full when it finally rose.
Not the hurried, blazing ascent of summer nights, but slow and deliberate—silver light climbing the sky as if it knew the pack was waiting for it.
Elias stood barefoot in the center of the clearing.
The ground beneath him was cool, packed earth worn smooth by generations of wolves who had stood where he stood now. The torches circling the clearing burned low, their flames steady and respectful, casting long shadows that stretched toward the trees.
The pack formed a wide ring beyond the firelight.
Not crowded. Not pressing.
Witnessing.
Elias’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he wondered if anyone else could hear it. His chest rose and fell slowly as he focused on breathing—deep in through his nose, steady out through his mouth
