As the plane touched down, a faint tremor rippled through the cabin.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.
Five years.
It had been exactly five years since I left this continent.
When I stepped out of the terminal, the air hit me all at once—disinfectant, coffee, and the mingled pheromones of strangers. The airport was as noisy as ever, humans, werewolves, and hybrids all rushing through the same space. Order on the surface, undercurrents beneath.
I was just about to wheel my luggage away when a sharp cry pierced the air.
"—Something's wrong with him!"
The crowd quickly parted, forming a small circle.
My feet froze.
On the floor lay a boy no more than four years old, curled into himself, fingers clutching the fabric over his chest. His breathing was rapid and uneven, a fain
