Jaxon
The intel came in just past dawn.
I was in the training yard, shirt soaked with sweat, fists wrapped in leather. Talon stood at the edge of the ring, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything until I threw the final punch, letting the punching bag swing wildly like it had a grudge against me.
“My instincts was right,” he said flatly. “Bloodmoon really planted a spy.”
I stilled, my chest heaving, my heartbeat louder than his words.
“Who?” I asked, unwrapping my hands slowly, like I needed something physical to focus on. “A name.”
He hesitated, just enough for it to itch beneath my skin.
“I don’t have one yet.” His eyes moved. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions without evidence.”
I sighed. At this point, I don’t even want to hear anything about spies and
