Aisha stood at the pack house’s main door, the floorboards creaking beneath her boots.
Callen had not moved far—he stayed at the edge of the entrance, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable.
The air between them felt thick, almost heavy, as though the house itself was waiting for her answer.
“So,” he said finally, voice low and careful, “are you staying?”
Aisha swallowed. She wanted to run, wanted to go back to her quiet apartment, to the illusion of normalcy.
But she also wanted answers, and safety, and to stop being manipulated by everyone around her. She hesitated, the weight of the choice pressing on her chest.
“I… I don’t know yet,” she admitted. Her voice was small, unsure.
Callen’s jaw tightened. “That’s fine,” he said evenly. “I won’t pressure you. But understand this—yo
