I’d left Silvermere in the dark, barefoot, bleeding, running for my life.I came back in a ten-car convoy.The vehicles were Valtherion’s idea, matte black SUVs and sedans, tinted windows, polished to a mirror shine.Crimson Fang flags on the lead, rear vehicles.The kind of motorcade that made border patrols radio ahead, highway traffic pull over.Valtherion and I were in the third car, a black Mercedes with leather interior, a partition between us and the driver.He sat beside me, one arm stretched along the back of my seat, perfectly relaxed.Like we were heading to brunch, not into the territory of the pack that had destroyed me."Twenty minutes," Zoe said through the earpiece.She was in the fifth car, coordinating."Silvermere border patrol already spotted us. They're radiating.""Let them," I said.I checked my reflection in the window.Zoe had outdone herself.We'd spent an hour on this, not vanity, strategy.Every detail calculated to deliver a message before I opened my mout
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