Aria’s POV

The air in the packhouse was different after that night - heavy, strained, whispering with things unsaid. All the hallways I walked down I could feel eyes on me. Wolves flicked their heads around when I passed them, but quickly enough not to hide the suspicion in their eye.

They knew.

Or at least, they thought they had.

After word was out that the renegade I had wept was my brother, the whispers started -- at first quiet, like the sound of wind through dead leaves, then ...