SMITH
The heavy scent of pine and damp earth clung to me ashoved sted my tie yet again. My fathr’s insistence that w,e visit the pack felt less like a request and more like a command. He framed it as a gesture of goodwill, a chance to offer condolences to strengthen alliances. But for me, this visit wasn’t about politics or optics.
The pack’s territory was quieter than I remembered, subdued in a way that set my teeth on edge. Loss hung thick in the air, pressing down on my chest as I stepped out ,of the car. Carla’s absence was a gaping wound, one I couldn’t ignore.
My father, ever th composed diplomat, led the way to the Pack house. His strides were purposeful, his demeanor unshaken. I followed, my thoughts tangled and restless. This moment needed precision, the right balance of sincer
