In the pack house, Cole stepped into my office. I could already feel the tension in the room, thick enough to taste.
Faye sat stiffly in the leather chair across from my desk, her fingers drumming nervously against her thigh, while Irene clutched a handkerchief to her nose, sniffling quietly, trying to hold back tears.
My mother was gone—taken—and the weight of that reality pressed down like a vise on my chest. I hated seeing anyone—especially Faye and Irene—so vulnerable, so shaken.
Cole’s boots clicked against the floor as he approached my desk. “Alpha, the warriors are assembled for briefing,” he said, his voice tight and measured. I nodded without looking up, my mind already moving faster than my thoughts could keep pace.
Just then, my phone began to ring. I snatched it up, my eyes
