Page 200 of Salt Between the Wolves

Soren fastened the last buckle.

"They're moving."

"Or they want us to think they are."

The mark burned beneath his ribs, sending a hot, persistent pulse through his body. Soren clenched his jaw.

Not now.

Garrick continued.

"We should send scouts."

"No."

The answer came too quickly, and even Soren heard it the moment it left his mouth.

The captain's eyes narrowed.

"We don't know how many there are."

"We know enough."

"No. We don't."

The older wolf's voice hardened as silence stretched between them. Several warriors nearby pretended not to listen and failed miserably.

"We wait."

Garrick pointed toward the forest.

"We send two scouts ahead. Three if you want. Then we learn what we're walking into."

Soren looked away toward the trees, toward action, toward something he could finally strike. The pressure beneath his skin twisted again, and everything felt too slow, too distant, and too careful while Vargan kept moving, people kept dying, and Eira remained gone.

"No."

The word landed heavily between them.

Garrick stared at him for a moment before speaking again.

"This is a mistake."

The statement was blunt, public, and dangerous to make in front of an alpha. Several wolves immediately looked away.

Soren felt irritation spike through him with sudden force.

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting you're angry."

The answer came without hesitation.

"And angry men make poor decisions."

The camp fell completely silent, and even the wind seemed to pause.

For one terrible heartbeat, Soren wanted to put Garrick in his place—not because he was wrong, but because he was right. The realization only made the anger worse.