The Shift Chamber doors are inches from Callum’s hand when the world decides to fall apart.
It starts with the wards.
They flicker—silver, then gold, then a colour that shouldn’t exist in the wolf spectrum at all. A pulse rolls through the corridor like the Packhouse is inhaling sharply.
My wolf’s ears go flat.
That’s never a good sign.
Rhea is half-limp in Callum’s arms, forehead pressed to his shoulder, breaths shallow and fast. Her skin is too hot—again. Her aura too loud. Her pulse too wild. Everything in her is screaming toward some breaking point and we’re just trying to get her behind the godsdamn doors before she—
“CALLUM!”
The shout cracks through the hall like a weapon.
All four of us turn as their footsteps thunder down the staircase.
Rhea’s parents.
Her adopted parent
