The eastern boundary at night had a different quality than it did at dawn.
Less patient. The ward lines carried the dark differently — not threatening, just more awake, the frequency of a boundary that had been running for four centuries understanding that night was when things crossed that preferred not to be seen.
Caden was not trying to be unseen.
He was standing at the perimeter line with no warriors behind him — no formation, no pack posture, no attempt at the negotiation stance of the first visit or the reduced approach of the second. Just him. Alone. In the dark, at the boundary of a territory that wasn't his, with the specific bearing of someone who had run out of approaches and was trying something else.
I felt him from the residence.
Felt the quality of him — his frequency,
