Elara POV:
I wake before dawn with the certainty that the dark is paying attention, not watching exactly, but listening in the way old things do when they sense a shift they can’t quite name yet.
The room is still, the packhouse quiet in the particular way large, occupied places become when many people are awake and moving carefully, when voices are kept low by instinct rather than instruction, and every sound carries intention. There are no alarms, no sharp sounds of panic, only the faint, constant whisper of motion, footsteps passing more frequently than they should, doors opening and closing with deliberate care.
My wolf stretches beneath my skin, unhurried but alert, a coil of awareness rather than urgency.
Something changed.
I sit up slowly, breathing into the moment, letting my
