Grace pov
The community center had been transformed into a makeshift medical station and command center. Bodies—both pack wolves and rogues—had been removed from the parking lot, but the scent of blood and death still hung heavy in the air. I sat on a bench against the wall, having finally borrowed clothes from someone, watching as pack members moved through the space with the shell-shocked efficiency of people processing trauma.
But my attention kept returning to Jace.
He sat in a chair near the center of the room, his injured shoulder now bandaged and the silver neutralized, but his eyes were completely vacant. He stared at nothing, his face slack, occasionally responding to direct questions from Marcus Reid or other pack leaders with single-word answers that held no real comprehensio
