Jack twisted the cap off his beer with a low click and sank into the worn leather couch in his office. The cushions sighed under his weight, shaped to fit the hours he’d spent in that spot—sometimes strategizing, sometimes just breathing through the heaviness of what leadership demanded.
The air smelled faintly of pine from the forest outside and the earthy musk of wolves drifting through the main house. From the cracked window came the gentle chorus of Darkwood’s territory—birds chattering in the branches, crickets starting their evening song, the distant, rolling call of a patrol wolf announcing their position.
It should have been calming. His home, his people, his land.
But today, the sounds pressed against his chest until it felt like the air itself was too heavy to breathe.
Across
