The alarm does not scream this time, and that is how I know it is worse.
It pulses low through the packhouse, a controlled signal meant to move bodies without lighting panic, and the sound crawls under my skin as Adam’s hand tightens around my wrist and pulls me forward. The corridor narrows around us, not physically but in the way attention sharpens, wolves emerging from doorways already geared, already listening, already reading the tension in Adam’s posture like a language they have learned by heart.
“Justin,” Adam says, voice calm and carrying, and his Beta is there almost immediately, eyes already tracking the flow of movement.
“East patrol,” Justin says. “Three wolves. Last ping was six minutes ago.”
“No retreat signal,” Adam replies.
“No,” Justin confirms. “No distress call eit
