The packhouse felt different when I returned from the lake—charged with an electric tension that had nothing to do with the supernatural warnings still echoing in my mind. Pack members moved with the heightened awareness that came after battle, when everyone was hyperconscious of threats both seen and unseen.
I found Maria exactly where I expected her to be: tucked into the farthest corner of the pack library, surrounded by ancient texts and the comforting presence of Martha, our elderly librarian. The sight of them together—one young woman still healing from trauma, the other offering silent sanctuary through shared quiet—made my chest tighten with protective affection.
Maria looked up as I approached, her aura flickering with the distinctive patterns I'd learned to read since my supern
