Five years of peace felt wrong.
Sera couldn’t explain it. Everything was perfect—the pack thriving, the academy successful, Morgan healthy. But something gnawed at her.
She stood in the war room at three AM, unable to sleep, staring at old intelligence files. The human conspiracy. Scattered. Monitored. But not dead.
“You’re doing it again,” Marcus said from the doorway.
“Doing what?”
“Looking for problems because peace makes you uncomfortable.” He crossed to her. “Morgan’s three months old. You should be exhausted from feeding schedules, not reviewing five-year-old intelligence.”
“The corporations dissolved, but the leadership disappeared. Vanished. We never found them.”
“Torres has teams tracking them. The council monitors their activities. You don’t need to hunt ghosts at three AM
