By the time we reached the compound, half the pack already knew something was wrong.
Word traveled fast in Silver Ridge. It moved through the trees, through the patrol lines, through kitchen whispers and council rooms before most wolves even realized it had started. By the time the patrol led me through the front gate, wolves were already turning to stare.
I hated that.
I hated the way fear changed people’s faces when they looked at you. The way concern could feel too much like pity if you let it.
So I kept my back straight.
Kept my jaw locked.
Kept walking.
My torn shirt clung coldly to my skin beneath my jacket. Snow had melted into the fabric during the walk back, and my shoulders still ached from where the rogue had slammed me into the tree. My throat burned where the other had
