By the time the first grey light of dawn crept over Dravengard, two truckloads of warriors, the same men Derek had ridden out with to dismantle Rolf's pack, came rumbling back through the broken gates.
The whole estate still lay in ruins from the night's battle.
Derek sat in the front passenger seat, staring blankly out of the window, fury churning slow and black in his chest.
Physically, he looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. He had dark soot patches on his face from the explosion, a deep gash near his temple that had only half-healed, and a nasty split lip.
The vehicle rolled to a stop in front of the medical centre. Instantly, teams of nurses and doctors scrambled out of the building, wheeling stretchers and carrying oxygen masks towards the trucks to tend to the heavily wounded gammas.
Derek opened his door and climbed out of the vehicle with a visible effort, his muscles aching.
