The late morning sunlight filtered through the packhouse’s tall windows, casting warm golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The usual hum of daily activity echoed faintly in the halls: pack members moving between duties, the clatter of dishes from the kitchen, and snippets of low conversations that came and went like passing breezes.
Althea had grown accustomed to the rhythm of the packhouse over the past few weeks. She had learned to navigate its winding halls and bustling rooms with quiet efficiency, avoiding the spaces where the whispers tended to be loudest. But today, something felt… off.
It started with the way the pack members’ eyes lingered on her a moment too long. When she passed a group in the corridor, their conversation fell silent, only to pick up again the mome
