The air in the packhouse feels heavier than usual. Marco senses it the moment he steps into the main hall. His eyes sweep over the warriors standing at attention near the entrance. They stiffen under his piercing gaze, but he doesn’t miss the unease flickering across their faces.
“Something’s off,” Marco mutters to himself, his sharp instincts buzzing. He knows his pack too well to ignore the tension hanging in the air.
He strides toward the gathering room, where a few warriors are huddled in low conversation. The moment they spot him, they straighten and fall silent.
“What the f**k are you all whispering about?” Marco barks, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel.
One of the warriors, a younger man named Greg, clears his throat nervously. “Nothing, Alpha. We were just—”
“Bullshit
