ALEXANDER
The pack house was quiet this morning in a way that felt unnatural, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. I sat in the office with my chair turned toward the window, my back to the desk, staring out at nothing in particular. The glass faintly reflected a version of me I barely recognized. From the outside, it probably looked like control. From the inside, it was just absence.
I couldn’t remember how long I’d been sitting there. Minutes, maybe hours. Time had lost its shape lately. Everything did.
I didn’t hear the door open.
I didn’t hear footsteps… I didn’t smell anything either.
It wasn’t until a hand touched my shoulder that I flinched sharply, every muscle in my body reacting on instinct. My breath caught, my spine going rigid—but I didn’t turn.
I didn’t
