Jacob’s POV I walked slowly through the wreckage, boots crunching on broken wood and scorched earth. The air still smelled of blood, smoke, and the faint bitter trace of shadow magic. Tents lay torn open like wounds. Barricades that had stood proud last evening were now splintered piles. Bodies of our wolves lay covered with cloaks in neat rows near the central fire. Too many. I counted the dead in silence. Twelve good wolves gone. Another twenty-seven were wounded badly enough that they would not fight tomorrow. The rest moved with heavy steps, bandaging cuts, dragging broken stakes away, and reinforcing what remained. The echo blast Faye unleashed had saved us tonight, burning back the shadow wolves and closing most of the portals. But the cost was high. The pack was bloodied, exhausted, and running out of time. I stopped beside one of the fallen, a young warrior who had stood with us since the valley. My jaw tightened. Thorn had struck early because he feared the echo. He kne
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