The knock on Anatoly’s office door pulls me from my thoughts. It’s late, the kind of late where only bad news travels. I glance over at Anatoly, who’s already frowning, his hand resting on the edge of his desk.“Come in,” he says, his voice clipped, his posture tense.The door creaks open, and one of our warriors steps in, their expression grim. Behind them, a figure lingers in the shadows, hesitant, their face obscured by a hood.“What’s this about?” Anatoly demands, leaning forward.“This one came to the border,” the warrior says, nodding toward the hooded figure. “Said they had news about Tomas. Insisted they speak to you and Beta Ruslan.”My stomach tightens as the figure steps into the light. A woman, thin but with a sharpness in her eyes that speaks of survival, pulls back her hood. I don’t recognize her, but her scent tells me everything I need to know.“Katya’s old pack,” I growl, my fists clenching at my sides.The woman flinches but doesn’t back down. “Yes,” she says, her vo
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