The packhouse felt too still. After hours of tending the wounded and settling arguments, the halls finally emptied, leaving only the low hum of distant voices and the fading scent of wolfsbane. I should’ve felt relieved. Instead, everything in me buzzed.

Alfred had been taken to the healer’s wing, recovering but exhausted. They told me to rest. I couldn’t. Not when the entire pack was still shaken. Not when the air held that familiar pressure—like a storm waiting for the wrong ...