The funerals lasted three days.Nineteen wolves from four different battlefields. Warriors and civilians, young and old—all who had died defending the right to choose reform over tradition.I attended every single one. I stood beside grieving families, spoke words that felt inadequate, and watched coffins lowered into earth that seemed to be swallowing too many good people.Luna came to most of them. She insisted, even though each one visibly broke something inside her.At the funeral for Thomas, the warrior from Stone's pack who had questioned her age and then died using the shield she taught him, Luna stood silently beside his mate and three children. The youngest couldn't have been more than four and kept asking when Daddy was coming home."He's not coming home," the older child, maybe seven, said with the brutal honesty of children. "He's dead because he learned magic from her."The boy pointed at Luna."Marcus," his mother said sharply, pulling the boy close.But the damage was d
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