Brooks:
We stumbled up the steps of the packhouse, breathless, covered in dirt, our bodies aching from the run. Hattie clung to my arm, her legs trembling beneath her. She was running on sheer willpower at this point, but we were here. We were home.
Safe—for now.
I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the familiar scent of our pack washing over me like a wave. For a fleeting second, I felt relief. But it was gone as quickly as it came. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
Without hesitation, I led Hattie straight to Zane’s office. The urgency in my steps made it clear—we had no time to waste.
Zane was already there, seated behind his massive desk. My father stood to his side, arms crossed, his face carved from stone. Both their eyes shot to me the moment I walked in.
"You’re back," Zan
