"Alpha," the taller one began, his voice taut, "we… we believe Freya has gone to the human world."
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unreal. Logan’s jaw tightened, the muscle at the corner twitching.
The shorter guard stepped forward and held something out in trembling hands.
"We found this, my Alpha… near the edge of the South Border woods."
It was a scarf—delicate, pale cream, and faintly scented of something soft and warm, something that made Logan’s chest constrict. Her scent.
Logan’s hand shot out and snatched it from them—not gently, but with a force that made the fabric crumple between his fingers. The moment his skin touched the scarf, the faint trace of her filled him. He could almost see her—Freya—her hair catching the sun, her lips pressed into that determined
