After training, I pad silently through the corridors of the pack house, careful not to let my footsteps echo against the polished floors.
The day has been long, the sun high, and the warmth outside only reminds me of the cage I feel within these walls. I don’t belong in this life yet, I tell myself. Not fully. Not until I know the truth.
And today, the truth feels close.
A faint murmur drifts from one of the larger rooms down the hall. Voices I recognize—Asher’s low, commanding tone, Lucien’s steady baritone, and another I can’t place immediately. The door is slightly ajar.
My pulse skips. I know I shouldn’t listen. I know I shouldn’t sneak. But every fiber of me urges me to stay, to hear. I press myself against the wall, leaning just enough to catch fragments of the conversation wit
