By sunset, Crimson Fang knew the truth. Not every detail yet, but enough: Elara’s parents had not abandoned the evacuation order. They had been pulled out of safety, internal access had been used, and pack leadership had failed them.

The lie was gone.

Elara packed less than she expected: clothes, weapons, her father’s old knife, her mother’s shawl, and the notebook she had started after the funeral.

Everything else stayed.

Not because it meant nothing.

Because the cabin did.

Elara stood in the doorway with one

Black Howler looked nothing like Crimson Fang.

The Royal Pack sat across a wide valley carved between dark mountains, with stone walls built into the slopes and training grounds large enough to hold several companies at once.

Elara noticed the exits