Zara slipped beyond the borders of the pack, moving toward the fringe where the wild things lingered—rogue camps filled with the discarded, the bitter, the broken. Wolves with no allegiance, only hunger.
And rage.
Perfect.
Zara watched from the trees, her eyes glinting like obsidian as she studied them—feral warriors, scarred and snarling, their hatred simmering beneath the surface. It would take only a whisper, a flicker of flame, to ignite them.
She would be that spark.
With poison in her voice, she would speak of Ella. Of a false Luna who cast them into exile. A mate who weakened Damian. A witch disguised as a queen.
She would twist their anger into war.
When they rose, it would be chaos. They would rip through the pack like wildfire—and Zara would make sure Ella stood in the cen
