The ground was still vibrating when we reached the old steel hatch. The vibrations ran up through my boots, rattling my bones and setting my wolf on edge. The clearing around the packhouse was full of wolves, every pair of eyes locked on the hatch as if expecting something monstrous to crawl out at any second.
They were not wrong.
The hatch itself sat in the far corner of the training yard, half buried beneath concrete and reinforced layers the pack installed decades ago. It had not been opened in years. It was supposed to stay sealed forever.
But the metal lay twisted open like something had exploded upward from below.
Theo stood at the edge, barking orders. Warriors fanned out around the hatch in tight formation, some already half shifted, others in full wolf form with fur bristling.
