Xavier's thoughts were clouded with anger, and the sting of his pack's losses still lingered in the cool morning air. The smoke from the funeral pyres had dissipated, leaving only a quiet solemnity behind. He had stood beside his packmates, burying the dead, silently vowing revenge. He refused to believe Acantha's words—that the Nightcrawlers had already won. No. This was just a skirmish, and they would rise again. The scent of their blood was still fresh in the air, the memories of the raid too vivid.
The pack had retreated for now, licking their wounds, but Xavier's mind raced with plans. He knew that Acantha and her team had come for something more than just dominance. She had made it clear—this was a show of force, a warning that the Queen's shadow stretched further than Xavier's pride had anticipated.
