Abel
Something was wrong with Millicent.
It started a few days after the pack meeting - little things at first that I might have missed if I wasn't so attuned to her every move. The way she'd pause mid-sentence like she'd forgotten what she was saying. How she'd stare at her computer screen for minutes without typing anything. Small stuff that could have been explained by stress or lack of sleep.
But it was getting worse.
This morning, I'd brought her coffee like I always did when she stayed over - which had been less and less lately, another red flag. I knew exactly how she liked it: one sugar, splash of cream, hot but not scalding. I'd been making it perfectly for weeks.
She took one sip and slammed the mug down so hard coffee sloshed onto her desk.
"I said hot, not volcanic!" she
