Elara POV:
The packhouse feels different when you walk into it knowing you’ve been invited rather than merely allowed.
I feel it the instant Caelan and I step into the courtyard — not as tension, but as a collective recalibration, a subtle tightening and release that moves through the pack like a shared breath. Wolves don’t stop outright; they adjust. Conversations soften, bodies angle, attention gathers not with suspicion but with interest, with the quiet curiosity of a pack that understands the weight of presence and wants to know what kind has just crossed its threshold.
Caelan’s hand rests at the small of my back, light enough to look incidental to anyone who doesn’t understand dominance, restraint, and intent braided together. The pack understands. They feel the discipline in it —
