Back in Twilight Packhouse, the mood couldn’t have been more different.
Beta Caleb stepped out into the cool dusk, needing air. Inside, Torin lay unconscious but alive, his body slowly recovering from the brutal nights as a beast. Freya hadn’t left his side since they returned.
She had wiped his wounds. Whispered his name. Laid her head beside his chest, listening to the rise and fall of breath she had nearly lost.
And Caleb had watched it all in silence.
He leaned against the outer wall of the packhouse, eyes trained on the treetops that danced with wind.
“Taking a deep breath won’t help what’s brewing in you,” came a voice beside him.
Caleb turned to see the pack doctor, arms folded, leaning just a few feet away with that uncanny, calm presence.
“What do you mean?” Caleb asked,
