DYERChaos reaches me before consciousness fully does.

It starts as vibration, low, urgent, wrong, traveling through stone and bone alike. Then sound crashes in all at once. Alarms. Not bells, not ceremonial horns, but the raw warning sirens carved into the old Lycan den for moments when there is no time to debate whether danger is real.

This is real.

I am already sitting up when the door bursts open.

Bodie storms in without knocking.

That alone snaps the last threads of sleep from my body.

He ...