Dante
The scent hit me before I even rounded the corner—strange, out of place, tainted with guilt. My wolves were patrolling the compound, but the stench of fear and adrenaline wasn’t coming from them. It was coming from one man.
Asher.
I stalked the hallway, boots thudding heavy against the concrete floor of our base. My men had already reported someone lurking near the records room. I didn’t need a damn report—I could feel the intrusion. Every nerve in my body was sharpened to a point.
I shoved open the door.
And there he was.
Bending over the cabinet, flashlight in his mouth, his hands rifling through folders that weren’t his to touch.
For a moment, silence stretched between us, broken only by the flutter of stolen pages in his grip. He froze when my shadow fell across the floor.
