DYERThe tension is already there when awareness finds me.

Not sharp enough to be pain. Not loud enough to demand movement.

Just tight, coiled around thought, around instinct, around the space behind my ribs where certainty should live.

It does not loosen when I dress. It does not ease when I step into the corridor and the den reveals itself in motion and sound and purpose. Lycans pass with quiet efficiency. Guards exchange shifts. Order persists.

None of it reaches me.

The pressure follows, ...