They called a council meeting at dawn.
Quinn hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Rowan’s face—not the one nestled against his chest in slumber, but the one he described. Older. Twisted. Hateful.
Jace stood by the window, tense. Watchful. He hadn't spoken much since Rowan’s whisper about the thing in the woods wearing his face.
Only one thing terrified an Alpha like Jace Thorn.
Losing his child to something he couldn’t fight.
“It could be a dream,” Milo offered, though his voice lacked conviction. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed, expression grim. “Kids say wild stuff when they’re exhausted.”
“Rowan has never lied about what he sees,” Quinn said. “And this… this felt different. It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a message.”
Jace finally turned. “Or a
