The knock on the door came late in the evening, shattering the fragile quiet that had settled over the packhouse. I was in the kitchen with Leila, helping her prepare dinner for Noah and a few other pups. Kane was in his office, poring over maps of the surrounding territories.
When the knock came again, louder this time, Leila froze mid-chop. She exchanged a wary glance with me.
“Who could it be at this hour?” she murmured, her knife trembling slightly in her hand.
I wiped my hands on a towel and headed for the door, my heart beating faster with each step. By the time I reached it, Kane was already there, his broad frame tense with alertness.
He opened the door, and for a moment, I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. A woman stood on the porch, her face pale and her clothes torn and
