The morning after war carried a strange stillness.
Even the estate courtyard seemed to breathe quietly.
Grey clouds drifted slowly above the old stone buildings while the pack gathered beneath the tall iron torches that had once illuminated countless ceremonies of victory and celebration, yet this gathering felt far heavier because the silence spreading across the courtyard held grief rather than triumph, and every wolf standing there understood that peace rarely began with celebration but instead with the painful duty of remembering those who had not returned.
Luca stood near the front of the assembled pack.
His shoulders felt heavier than armor.
