Chapter 24. Crossfire

Riven slid off the bike, boots crunching against gravel, lungs raw. Her scraped palms stung through her torn jeans, but her voice rose anyway—sharp, fierce, burning.

Gravel dug into her knees as she staggered forward, the floodlights glaring down from the rigs above, bleaching the ridge white. Dust stung her throat, the night air heavy with oil and smoke. Her voice tasted like blood when she screamed:

“He’s not your king!”

The words cracked through the noise sharper than chains, sharper than jeers.

The pack stilled for a heartbeat. Engines sputtered, headlights swayed, dust hung suspended in the glare.

Riven’s chest heaved, voice raw but unrelenting. “Magnus is gone because he tried to burn us all! Axel doesn’t wear his crown—he broke it.”

Gasps rippled through the Wolves. Some shifted uneasily, others laughed bitter, the rivals jeering louder.

A scarred lieutenant snarled, his twisted grin catching the floodlight. “Ghost girl speaks—but she