Bella’s P.O.V.
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
The pack house war room—normally reserved for battle strategy and regional treaties—was now our emergency base of operations. The long conference table was cluttered with cables, laptops, maps, and empty mugs. But what truly filled the room was the heavy silence of unanswered questions.
Matt, Ryan, Aiden, and Blake stood grouped around the central laptop, where a single program blinked softly, waiting for activation. Rose sat beside me, calm but alert, while Rachel paced in tight, deliberate steps. Her fingers twitched like they ached to shift into claws.
No one had seen or heard from Mason in over forty-eight hours. And that was two days too long.
“He wouldn’t just leave,” Rachel said suddenly, pausing near the wind
