Caelan POV:
The first thing I notice isn’t the message itself, but the shift that precedes it.
The packhouse continues as it always does, voices drifting through the corridor and footsteps moving overhead, the steady rhythm of territory life unbroken on the surface. Beneath it, though, something tightens.
Vaelor lifts his head inside me, not bristling, not prowling, he’s just listening. He doesn’t scent threat, he scents attention, and that alone is enough to sharpen the air.
Then my phone vibrates once in my hand.
I don’t look at it immediately. I don’t need to.
Elara turns toward me from the window, already reading the moment before I do. Her jacket settles around her shoulders as she shifts, and the mark at her throat catches the morning light, the bond answering with a low, stead
