The clash of steel against fang echoed through the chamber like a drumbeat of survival. Sparks danced in fleeting bursts of light every time Loren's blade intercepted Erebus's monstrous strikes. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a duel of equals—one man pitting his skill against a beast forged from shadow.
But to the squad watching from the edge of the chamber, it was something else entirely.
Mia Frostine stood at the front, her eyes locked on the battlefield. She had fought creatures beyond number in her short life—yet this wolf unsettled her more than any of them. Not because of its power, though that was undeniable, but because of how it wielded that power.
The wolf wasn't fighting to kill. It was withholding.
Every time Vance swung his blade, Erebus met him with just enough force to keep the duel balanced. Every dodge, every sidestep, every claw that came within a hair's breadth of tearing him apart—it all carried the same rhythm. Deliberate restraint.
