Elder Torren shifts, his breath catching like it hurts to hold it in. He tries to restrain himself, to conceal the disbelief on his face—but Garren’s fixation snaps something loose in him.
“This is madness,” he mutters, barely above a breath.
Every head whips toward him.
A single, suspended heartbeat.
No one blinks. No one even dares to breathe, because calling an Alpha’s command insane is the kind of suicide everyone recognizes on instinct.
Garren lifts his gaze slowly, the movement making the hairs on every neck rise.
“Say it again.”
Torren lifts his chin. Foolhardy. Brave. Doomed.
“We’re draining the pack dry,” he fires back. “The southern villages can’t feed themselves. The western wells are dust. And you want to chase a prophecy?” His voice rises more than it should, layered w
