The tension inside the Sawyer compound felt like a storm cloud hanging just overhead, heavy and suffocating. Daisy could feel it in the way people spoke in hushed tones, their shoulders tight and their glances darting nervously. The children were quiet, the women were restless, and even the guards moved with more caution than usual.
Daisy stepped into the dining hall, the hum of muted conversation washing over her, only for it to still almost immediately as Elvira’s voice cut through the room.
“Such a pity, isn’t it?” Elvira’s tone was light, almost conversational, as she leaned against the long table, her long nails tapping rhythmically on the polished wood. “Packs falling apart. Omegas scattered, vulnerable. Makes you wonder how much of it is bad luck… and how much is bad leadership.”
