The forest outside Blackmist was no longer just trees and fog.
It was a war camp.
Tents had been raised in the moonlight, their canvas walls marked with sigils of protection. Wolves from lesser packs, guards who had defected after Camille's escape, and even old bloodlines disillusioned by the Council now gathered here, loyal not to titles, but to truth.
And at the center of it all stood Magnolia.
She wore black now.
Not mourning.
Warning.
The fire crackled in the center of the command circle as Beckett strode in, boots muddy, jaw tight. Magnolia was speaking to Elara over a map of the ancient outposts when she caught sight of his face.
It wasn't just tension.
It was something worse.
"Talk," she said.
Beckett didn't wait.
"We have a leak."
The map curled at the edges from the sudden stillness.
"Who?" Elara asked.
"Not confirmed," Beckett said. "But word of our location made it back to the Keep less than six hours after we moved."
