OLIVIA POV
The first sound was metal grinding against metal.
The door.
Every muscle in my body locked. My breath hitched. I could feel the same ripple of tension spread across the room like a shiver running through the pack link — except I couldn’t reach the link anymore. There was nothing where connection should be. The air was heavy, stale, thick with fear and sweat and the scent of too many hearts racing too fast.
The women shifted closer together. The elders moved in front of the pups, claws out, eyes glowing faintly even through age. I saw one of them — Greta, seventy and proud — bare her teeth, muttering a prayer to the Goddess under her breath. We were ready.
We were cornered, yes, but not weak. If rogues broke through that door, they’d meet teeth and nails and fury.
The locks
