CHEYENNE
The first sign is the howl.
It comes just before dawn, slicing through the thinning dark with a cadence that does not belong to our pack, not quite hostile and not quite neutral, pitched slightly wrong, the rhythm off by a fraction that only someone listening carefully would catch. I am already awake when it reaches us, lying still with Layla alert beneath my skin, and the moment the sound fades, the bond tightens sharply as the pack stirs in response.
It is not a challenge.
It is not a call to war.
It is a message.
I sit up slowly and swing my legs over the side of the bed, keeping my breathing even while the corridors outside my room begin to fill with movement. Boots hit the floor. Doors open. Voices murmur in clipped tones that carry more tension than clarity. Layla’s fo
