KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

The air in the war room was charged, a palpable tension that clung to every shadowed corner and whispered of the impending storm. I stood at the head of the ancient oak table, its surface etched with the scars of countless strategy sessions. My allies encircled me, their faces etched with lines of concern and determination. With my back ramrod straight and chin lifted in defiance of the creeping dread, I met each of their gazes squarely.

"Alpha Biansky's pack moves under ...