The morning after Hollow Fang's fall, the air was eerily still.
Aria stood at the cliff's edge, her cloak whipping behind her in the cold mountain breeze. Below her, the valley stretched endlessly—a jagged landscape of torn earth and ancient scars. Somewhere in that distance, past rivers and ridges, lay the answers they needed. But reaching them would require more than strength. It would require unity.
Behind her, the camp stirred. Fires crackled to life, soldiers groaned awake, and the scent of burning herbs filled the air as healers moved among the wounded. Despite the carnage they'd survived, there was something new in the way the wolves moved—purpose.
The bond hadn't just held.
It had inspired.
"You look like you're preparing to fly off the cliff," came Tobias's familiar, sarcastic drawl.
Aria didn't turn. "I might."
"Mind if I join you for the fall?" he said as he came up beside her.
