While Zara and her three spies galloped toward Damian's pack under the veil of night, thinking they were headed into victory, Damian was ten steps ahead.
Standing at the center of the pack’s training field, his jaw clenched and eyes cold, he gave swift and chilling instructions to his elite warriors.
“Scatter the corpses,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Let the blood mark the gates like a welcome banner. Let them see the cost of betrayal the moment they arrive, but think that it's ours...”
The guards he’d slaughtered earlier—traitors in Gamma’s ranks—were hauled to the entrance. Their bodies, some still twitching in the final throes of death, were arranged with strategic chaos. Blood splattered the stone, blades still lodged in flesh, necks twisted, limbs severed—a masterpiece of d
