Damien
The pack was crumbling.
I could see it in the tension-filled meetings, in the sharp words exchanged in hushed whispers, in the way wolves who had once fought side by side now regarded each other with suspicion.
Ronan had split us down the middle.
His presence in Spring Hollows had been tolerated at first—a necessity, nothing more. But now? Now, he was an infection spreading through my pack, a wedge driving between warriors who should have been united.
Some saw him as an ally. A powerful force willing to stand against Elijah and his rogues. Others feared him, feared what his kind—the Supremes—represented. We weren’t meant to align with them. We weren’t meant to trust them.
And yet, here we were.
Divided.
Weak.
I stood at the front of the war room, my arms folded, my patience
