Malachai's POV.We move in silence through the trees, shadows stretch long under the bleeding light of dusk. The forest has grown cold, as if even it knows we have failed.My breath burns with fury, every step pounding like a drumbeat of rage against the earth. Twigs snap beneath my boots. Birds scatter. The other hunters trail behind me, wounded and wordless.Izak stays close, but wisely keeps quiet.When the camp comes into view — hidden behind thorned barriers and illusion wards — I don't slow. I storm inside the largest tent, yank down a weapons rack, and kick over the strategy table. The maps, the plans, the carefully constructed path to victory — scatter like ashes.“They weren’t supposed to be there!” I roar, voice hoarse. “Aarden’s wolves never interfere! That was the one rule — they watch, they guard, but they do not act!”I turn, eyes wild, lip curled. “You said they stayed in the shadows.”Izak doesn't flinch. “They always have. Until now.”“Well, that changed today, didn’t
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