Damian's P.O.V.
The early morning air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine needles. Patrolling around the pack house had become something of a habit for me lately—a way to stay grounded, to keep my instincts sharp. It also helped distract me from the gnawing ache of Kiera’s absence. She was gone most days now, back to her work, and though I missed her, I was beginning to accept it. Slightly. Just slightly.
This was her world before she became mine, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—hold her back. Even if I hated the emptiness that settled in when she wasn’t around.
I slowed my steps near the side entrance of the pack house, my senses alert. Something felt... off. I caught a faint murmur of voices nearby, too low for an ordinary human to hear, but just clear enough for me.
