chests. They weren't just here to scare the humans anymore. They were here for a culling. Silas stepped off the porch, his bare feet hitting the cold dirt. He gently but firmly pried Ivy's hand fro

in, Ivy watched through the glass, her fingernails digging into the wooden windowsill until they bled. She saw Silas get thrown against a tree, the bark cracking under the impact. She saw the silver wolf rake his claws across Silas's ribs. "He's going to kill him," Ivy sobbed. "He's holding his own," Liam whispered, his arm around Sloane. He was terrified, but he was watching the way Silas fought-not with the mindless rage of the pack, but with a desperate, focused precision. Silas was losing. His vision was blurring, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Magnus stood over him, huffing, preparing for the final, crushing bite to the neck. But Magnus made one mistake. He looked toward the cabin, letting out a triumphal roar to terrify the humans one last time. In that split second of arrogance, Silas remembered the music Ivy had played for him-the way it felt like the wind. He remembered the charcoal drawings of his own face. He didn't fight like a wolf; he fought like someone who had something to live for beyond the pack. Silas lunged upward, not for the throat, but for the injured leg Magnus had been favoring since an old hunt years ago. He bit down with everything he had and twisted. Magnus let out a high-pitched yelp, his balance breaking. As the Alpha fell, Silas didn't go for the kill. He shifted back into his human form, breathless and bloody, and pinned his father's throat to the ground with his forearm. "Yield," Silas hissed, his eyes glowing a gold so bright it looked like liquid sun. The woods went silent. The other wolves watched, frozen