I jerked awake, my heart hammering against my ribs. The pain in my shoulder flared instantly, a hot, jagged reminder of the Foundry, but I ignored it. I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, my hand shaking.
The door opened.
Guilermo stepped in.
He was fully dressed in tactical gear. Black cargo pants, a heavy jacket, boots laced tight. He held a duffel bag in one hand and a rifle in the other.
He didn't look like an Alpha in command of his territory. He looked like a fugitive.
"Get up," he said. His voice was low, urgent.
"What's happening?" I asked, pushing the blankets back. My legs felt like lead.
"Herman," he said. "And the High Council. They just crossed the perimeter."
"Here?" I blinked, trying to clear the sleep from my brain. "To help?"
"To arrest you," he
