I don’t sleep again after my Alpha leaves, not properly, because every time I close my eyes the bond tightens as if it’s checking whether I’m still here, still aware, still reachable from both sides. I lie on my back staring at the pale stone ceiling while the packhouse settles into its lowest rhythms, guards shifting, distant doors opening and closing, the quiet sounds of bodies moving through shared space with practiced familiarity. It should be comforting, routine enough to fade into the background, but tonight every sound feels amplified, every pause weighted with meaning.
The guard outside my door changes at first light, boots scuffing softly as one steps away and another takes position, and the subtle change in scent pulls my wolf fully awake even though my body already was. I sit u
