Shirley
The silence inside the bar was heavier than the smoke that lingered after closing time.
I’d gotten used to background noise—the scrape of pool cues, the rise and fall of voices, the occasional slam of a fist on the counter when someone got too drunk and too bold. But tonight, as I wiped down glasses and stacked them neatly, it felt like the whole building was holding its breath.
Or maybe that was just me.
I didn’t have to hear what was said in Dante’s meeting earlier to know it was about me. Wolves weren’t exactly subtle with suspicion. The way Knox had looked at me before, the whispers that died the second I walked into a room—it was all the confirmation I needed.
Shirley Winters. The woman with WHO blood. The Alpha’s weakness.
The label clung to me like smoke I couldn’t was
