The packhouse thrummed with the particular frequency of those left behind—a vibration that lived somewhere between prayer and panic, settling into my bones like shrapnel. Every surface seemed to pulse with the absence of our warriors, the walls themselves mourning the bodies that should have filled these spaces. I paced the living room like a caged thing, my omega biology screaming protect-nurture-hide while my soul howled for blood and battle, the disconnect between instinct and need threatening to tear me apart at the cellular level.
"You're going to wear a groove in the floor," Julie observed from where she monitored vitals on a makeshift medical station. Kieran's sister had her mother's delicate features sharpened by years of medical training, hands steady even as the world prepared t
