Ragnar stomped over, his growl rumbling in the air like thunder. "You two bickering again? We've got wolves itching to fight, and you're arguing over knives like it's a damn picnic!"
Ariana spun on him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and fear. "It's not just knives, Ragnar—it's survival! If we don't have enough, Lucian's gonna carve us up before we even get close!"
Kaelen raised a hand, his tone sharp but steadier. "Enough, both of you. Finn'll deliver—I trust him. Let's focus on what we have—food's sorted, Mira's brewing something for the wounded. We're not dead yet. We can't let ourselves fall apart over this."
Ragnar grunted, crossing his arms, his expression a mixture of annoyance and concern. "Better not be. My crew's ready to rip throats, but they're not eating dirt 'cause your shifter boy's late."
Ariana rubbed her temples, her voice quieter now, but still filled with tension. "Fine. What's the count—how much do we have?"
