Ethan's POV
The war room smelled of iron and smoke.
Maps covered the long oak table, their edges weighed down by daggers, carved stones, and the occasional bloodstain no one had bothered to scrub away. Candles burned low despite the daylight outside, their flames flickering as if even fire understood the tension coiled within these walls.
Silverfang had not known peace in days.
I stood at the head of the table, hands braced against the wood, eyes fixed on the jagged red markings that cut through our territory. Each mark represented an attack. A village burned. A patrol ambushed. A mother buried.
Nightshade's doing.
My jaw tightened.
"They hit the eastern watch again before dawn," Beta Rowan reported, his voice hard. "Lost six warriors. Two were barely past their first shift."
A low growl rippled through the room.
"And Blackwood?" I asked.
