External POV
A woman, in her mid-thirties, carrying a bucket of water she would not reach home with. The pulse had misaligned something inside her.
Not pain. No injury.
Interruption.
She collapsed hard against the stone.
Bones don't always break loudly.
Sometimes they shear.
The sound was wrong, too soft, too final.
One of the wolves swore under his breath.
"Non-lethal," the medic said automatically, already moving. "But…"
But the way her leg bent was not recoverable.
Irreversible didn't always mean dramatic.
Sometimes it meant a lifetime measured differently.
The leader made her decision at that moment not because it was correct, but because the delay had already done damage.
"Engage," she said. "Containment priority."
Two wolves moved downslope immediately.
And then.
"Hold."
The word came through the comm, sharp and unmistakable.
Different channels.
Different authority.
The wolves froze mid-step.
Training reasserted itself.
