Derek's POV
The security office smells like stale coffee and my own exhaustion. Four cups in four hours, and I still feel like I'm thinking through mud. The bank of monitors in front of me shows every angle of our territory, and I've been staring at them so long the images are starting to blur together.
"Come on, you bastards," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. "Show me something."
The footage from the past week plays on loop. Same boring s**t, mostly. Guards making their rounds. Pack members going about their daily business. But somewhere in all this normalcy, there's got to be something. Some pattern or weakness that Martinez's people are looking for.
My wolf is restless, pacing inside me like he knows something I don't. He's been like this for days, ever since the runic bullets showed up.
