The morning sun broke reluctantly through a veil of mist, painting the forest in muted shades of gray. The packhouse felt unusually still, as if the walls themselves braced for the storm ahead. Olivia stirred from uneasy sleep, her body curled instinctively toward Lucas. His arm was draped over her waist, his hand heavy but protective, even in slumber.
For a moment, she simply watched him—his brow furrowed even in rest, his lips pressed into a thin line. He never truly slept, not when threats loomed. His entire life had been carved from vigilance, from the weight of responsibility, and now, with Emily’s challenge echoing in every corner of the pack’s territory, that weight seemed unbearable.
Careful not to wake him, Olivia slipped from the bed. She padded to the window, wrapping her arms
