Rex Pov
I sat on a stump near the edge of the camp and watched the Ironfang scout.
The wolf was tied to a tree, his face bruised and his eyes darting around at our thin, hungry pack members. He looked better fed than any of us. That was the first thing I noticed. It made my stomach twist, but I kept my face flat.
"Tell me again," I said. "Who has Viktor been talking to?"
The scout spat on the ground. "He doesn't talk to runts."
I didn't move. I just looked at him. "You're tied to a tree in a territory that doesn't belong to you. I'd pick a different tone."
He shifted his weight, the ropes creaking. "He's been meeting the ones who left. The ones who didn't want to starve with a cursed Alpha. They told him the WolfTrail is a graveyard."
"How many?" I asked.
"Enough to take what's left of this dirt," the scout said.
