The transition from the Great Hall to the Eastern Cabin was less of a relocation and more of a tactical retreat. The rumors had become a physical weight in the main pack house. Every time I walked to the kitchens, the silence that followed me was sharper than any insult.
Draven’s Betas were no longer hiding their discontent; they stood in tight circles, their voices dropping into low, urgent growls whenever Draven approached.
They saw me as a liability. They saw Ronan as a ticking time bomb. And they saw Draven’s devotion as a c***k in the armor of Silver Ridge.
The Eastern Cabin sat on the edge of a frozen lake, tucked away in a valley of weeping willows and ancient spruce. It was smaller than the previous cabin, but sturdier, built from dark cedar that seemed to absorb the moonlight.
