The warehouse on 47th and Pine loomed like a forgotten relic in the industrial outskirts of Cheyenne, its rusted gate creaking ominously in the January wind as I pulled my car up to the curb. Snowflakes swirled under the dim streetlights, blanketing the cracked asphalt in a thin, treacherous layer that crunched under my boots as I stepped out.
The air was biting, carrying the faint scent of oil and decay from the abandoned building, peeling paint on the walls, broken windows like empty eyes staring back. My heart pounded, a mix of adrenaline and wariness sharpening my alpha senses. This could be a trap, some rival pack's ploy to snag a Silverfang heir, or worse, Elias testing loyalties after that pregnancy bombshell. But curiosity burned hotter than the cold; whoever this mystery call
