I felt them before they crossed the door.
It wasn’t a hunch. It was something more physical. Like a subtle pressure in my chest, a current of energy brushing against my skin even through the fabric. My wolf stirred, without making a sound, as if she recognized the scent of judgment. Or memory.
Skadi wasn’t afraid.
But I was.
The main door opened without drama. No creaking. No icy wind. No sinister shadows. Just the dull sound of wood yielding, and the soft echo of three sets of footsteps entering the pack house.
Three figures. Three presences. Three kinds of silence.
The first to enter was a man of average height, ash-gray hair, and eyes the color of river stones. His gait was slow, almost imperceptible, but each step seemed rooted in the earth itself. He wore a dark, unadorned cloak
