Richard’s POV
In the holding cells beneath the packhouse, Lila sat on the narrow cot in the corner, knees drawn up, staring at the floor. She’d been like that for hours, and she hadn’t spoken since the guards dragged her away from the kitchen. Not a word. Not even when Torren asked why.
I didn’t sleep that night.
Emma stayed curled against me in bed, one hand on her belly, the other clutching mine like she was afraid to let go. The shallow cut on her arm had been cleaned and bandaged, but the sight of the blood on her sleeve still lingered even after I closed my eyes. I held her until her breathing evened out, then lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment: the knife flashing, Emma’s scream, the way Lila’s eyes had gone wild with hate.
By dawn, the pack knew.
Word sprea
