Reclaiming My Broken Luna (Astrid and Killian) novel Chapter 392

Killian’s POV

The camp was alive with activity, warriors moving like clockwork as weapons were sharpened, armor adjusted, and strategies refined.

The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing down on all of us like an invisible weight.

The final confrontation was drawing near, and every wolf here knew it.

Astrid approached, her steps light but purposeful, her face shadowed with exhaustion. “Drystan and Nova haven’t sent word yet,” she said softly, her eyes searching mine.

“They will,” I replied, forcing certainty into my voice. “They know what’s at stake.”

But deep down, doubt gnawed at me. The alliances we had built, the fragile unity between the Packs—it all felt like it was hanging by a thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Astrid’s gaze shifted to Andros, who stood near the edge of the camp, guarded by two warriors.

He leaned casually against a tree, his sharp eyes scanning the camp with calculated precision.

“I still don’t trust him,” Astrid muttered, her voice low but firm.

“Neither do I,” I admitted, my tone clipped. “But for now, he’s useful.”

Before she could respond, Rowena approached, her movements slower but still commanding respect.

Her silver hair was tied back neatly, and her piercing gaze swept over the camp with a critical eye.

“You’ve done well,” she said, nodding toward the training warriors. “But it won’t be enough.”

I turned to her, barely concealing my irritation. “If you have something helpful to say, now’s the time.”

She smirked faintly. “The Rogue King thrives on chaos. If your Packs aren’t united when you face him, you’ll lose before the first strike.”

Astrid stepped forward, her voice sharp. “And how do you suggest we unite them, Rowena? You’ve done more than anyone to tear them apart.”

Rowena’s gaze softened, just slightly. “I made mistakes,” she said, her tone measured. “But if you want to hold these Packs together, you need to remind them what they’re fighting for. Unity isn’t built on fear; it’s built on trust.”

Her words struck a chord, but I couldn’t ignore the irony. Trust was exactly what she had shattered—what we were trying to protect from breaking completely.

Before the conversation could go any further, a scout burst into the camp, his fur matted with sweat and blood.

He skidded to a stop in front of us, bowing his head.

“Alpha Killian,” he gasped. “Drystan and Nova have been spotted. They’re holding position near the Rogue King’s camp, but they need reinforcements.”

My pulse quickened. “Gather the warriors. We leave in an hour.”

The scout hesitated. “There’s more. The rogues are preparing for a ritual with the Amulet. It’s glowing, brighter than before.”