"Damn it, Alistair," I hissed, my anger flaring. "You had no right to dig into my private business like this. I trusted you—"
"And I was trying to protect you," he cut me off, his tone hardening. "You're too close to this, Callum. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment, and that's dangerous. For you and for the pack."
I stared at him, disbelief and anger warring in my chest. "Is this some kind of intervention?"
My father's voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the gravity in it. "Yes, it is."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words tangled in my throat. I looked around the table, searching their faces for some hint of understanding, but all I saw was resolve—my father's unyielding authority, my mother's quiet fear, and Alistair's frustrating calm. It was suffocating.
