Leila
I tilted my head toward the voice that cut through the murmur in the crowd, sharp as a blade through flesh. An old man shuffled in, his dark brown suit hanging loose on a frame that once held power. Tall, burly soldiers flanked him, their eyes hard and unyielding. I knew him at once - the old gardener, his gnarled hands and stooped back a fixture in my memory. But then it hit me, a fist to the gut: that familiarity wasn't just habit. It was...
"Alpha Basil from Night Growler Pack!" a soldier bellowed, his voice a hammer against the silence.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the manager - some puffed-up fool who'd sneered at the gardener not ten minutes before - crumple. His knees hit the floor, a trembling mess of sweat and fear. I almost laughed. Almost.
Alpha Basil stood ther
