Outside Crescent Vale, the pack moved cautiously through the ruins, alert and tense. The night air was cold, crisp, and unusually quiet. Normally, the pack’s training sessions were loud, full of barked commands and the slap of paws on earth, but tonight there was only the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
From the shadows, one of the warriors suddenly stumbled forward, collapsing into the dirt with a sharp, startled cry. Other wolves rushed to help, but the warrior didn’t stay still.
He twisted violently, hitting out at anyone who came near, eyes wild and unseeing. The snarl that escaped him was too strange even for a werewolf, thick and guttural. The pack froze, some stepping back instinctively, unsure what to do.
Jax, standing at the front of the group, dove forward to intercep
