The refugees kept coming.
By the third night, we'd absorbed forty-seven wolves from six different packs. Shadow-touched families, wolves with "abnormal" gifts, even some who simply questioned the Purge. Our resources stretched thin, but Luna appointed herself unofficial welcome committee, helping frightened pups understand they were safe.
"We need more dens," I told the emergency council. "More healers. More everything."
"What we need is a reality check," Raymond interjected, though he kept distance from Marcus. "We're harboring fugitives. When Declan comes—"
"When Declan comes, he'll find wolves ready to defend their home," Marcus cut him off. "Every refugee makes us stronger."
"Does it? Or does it make us a bigger target?"
Before the argument could escalate, a new voice spoke from the doorway. "It makes you hope."
Everyone turned. A wolf stood there—young, maybe sixteen, with burn scars covering half her body. But her eyes held shadow-depth.
"I'm Senna," she said simply. "From Iron Claw. I was in the first Purge." She pulled back her sleeve, revealing worse scarring. "They tried to burn the shadow out of me. When that didn't work, they tried to burn me entirely."
The council sat in stunned silence.
"I escaped. Barely. Been running for days." She looked directly at Raymond. "You think taking refugees makes you weak? Every wolf who survives Declan's Purge is proof that shadow-touch can't be killed. Only wolves can."
"Tell us everything," I said gently. "What's Declan planning?"
Senna's information chilled my blood. Three packs fully committed. Two more considering. Public executions of shadow-touched wolves. Pups taken from parents deemed "infected."
"He's not just killing," she explained. "He's trying to terrorize others into compliance. Make shadow-touch so feared that wolves suppress it themselves."
"The Severing all over again," the Winter Alpha murmured. "History's bitter echo."
That night, as I tucked Luna into bed, she asked the question I'd been dreading.
"Mama, why do some wolves hate us?"
How did you explain prejudice to innocence? "They're afraid, baby. Of change. Of being different."
"But different is just another way of being the same." She yawned, shadows dancing in her exhaustion. "Everyone's different somehow. That's what makes us the same."
Three-year-old wisdom that scholars would debate for centuries.
After she slept, I found myself on the training grounds where Marcus was working with refugee wolves, teaching integrated combat—shadow and physical united.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, not pausing in his forms.
"Too many thoughts." I watched him move, noted how the shadows enhanced rather than hindered. "You've adapted well to the merger."
"Had a good reason to." He finished the sequence, barely winded. "Every shadow I reclaimed had memories of you. Of what I should have been. Hard to ignore that chorus."
"Marcus..."
"I know. Partners. I'm respecting that." He grabbed water, careful distance between us. "But I need you to know—when Declan comes, and he will come, I'll stand between him and our daughter. Between him and you. Not as an Alpha or a failed mate. Just as someone who finally understands what's worth dying for."
"Don't talk about dying."
"Someone has to." His expression was grave. "The refugees bring word—Declan's not coming to negotiate. He's coming to make an example. Public execution of the 'infected' Alphas."
My gift flared, reading the truth. He expected to die defending us. Had already accepted it.
"No." The word came out sharp. "We're not doing noble sacrifices. We're being smart. Strategic. We've survived too much to—"
Howls interrupted. Border alarms, but different. Not panic. Warning.
A lone wolf approached under peace banner. One of ours—a scout sent to monitor Declan's movements. But something was wrong. His emotions were... muffled. Controlled.
"Report," Marcus commanded.
The scout spoke, but the words were rehearsed. "Alpha Declan sends greetings. Offers terms. Single combat. Leader to leader. Winner takes all packs. Loser's pack submits to victor's law."
Through my gift, I felt the truth. Mental compulsion. Someone—something—was controlling our scout.
"When?" Marcus asked, already knowing it was a trap.
"Tomorrow. Noon. The Challenge Circle between territories." The scout's eyes flickered, fighting the control. "He... he has something. Someone. Makes wolves obey. Can't... resist..."
He collapsed, the compulsion breaking with distance. But the message was delivered.
"Single combat," Marcus said quietly. "If I win, the Purge ends. If he wins..."
"Every shadow-touched wolf dies," I finished. "Including Luna."
"I have to accept."
"It's a trap!"
"I know." He looked at me, and for a moment I saw past the Alpha to the wolf who'd danced with me under stars, who'd whispered promises of forever. "But what choice do I have?"
The revolution had given us hope. Now we had to fight to keep it.
And I had less than eighteen hours to figure out how to save the wolf I couldn't admit I still loved.