Tessa
Keith’s voice still rings in my ear even after I end the call. My fingers hover over the screen, reluctant to put the phone down as if the connection might break more than just a conversation — as if letting go could unravel the fragile control I’ve been holding onto all damn week.
The air inside my office feels heavier now, the scent of cedar and smoke from the hearth doing nothing to settle the unease building in my chest.
Stevie was attacked.
The words echo over and over like a drumbeat I can’t silence.
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair, letting my head rest against the wood. Keith’s voice, always steady, had cracked when he told me. Stevie — his pack’s best tracker — ambushed just beyond their eastern border, throat torn, barely alive when they found her. Someone sli
