The dawn after Liora's defection came late. The sun dragged itself over the horizon as if reluctant to see what had been broken in the night. Smoke still rose in thin, tired lines from the burned edges of the camp. Wolves moved through the wreckage like men who'd lost a god.
Everywhere Gonzalo's name was spoken, it carried a weight of disbelief.
The Alpha sat in his war tent, his eyes bloodshot, his knuckles white around the edge of a table littered with maps. Those same maps that once made sense of the world were now no better than mockery, thin lines, false borders, promises undone. The air inside the tent was heavy, thick with the iron scent of blood and the cold of loss.
"Liora is gone," his beta said quietly, his voice cautious, as if the words themselves might spark something violent. "She left with the rogues, she took their side."
Gonzalo's head lifted. His eyes were pale storms. "I know. Everyone saw it."
The beta hesitated. "Elira the servant..."
