Midnight at the Blackthorn Citadel was a fortress of deep shadows and silent patrols. Beneath the primary administrative wings lay the Restricted Historical Archive—a subterranean vault carved directly into the bedrock, housing the original founding treaties and blood

The morning after my infiltration of the archive, the Blackthorn administrative wing was thrown into sudden, chaotic turmoil.

I sat quietly at a corner desk in the lower logistics office, reviewing shipping manifests on my tablet, when the security doors flew ope

The Grand Pavilion was packed to capacity once more, its tiered galleries filled with pack elders, regional enforcers, and high-ranking dignitaries who had caught wind of an emergency disciplinary hearing. At the center of the obsidian floor stood Vivienne Laurent, he