The packhouse is silent except for the echo of my heartbeat in my ears. This place should feel like home — the timber beams, the scent of pine and smoke from the stone fireplace, the distant sound of paws on the training fields. But tonight the walls press in. Every breath is tight, shallow, as though even the air knows what’s coming.
Asher stands at the window across the room, arms folded, shoulders rigid. He’s been pacing all afternoon, restless energy rolling off him in waves. His wolf is close to the surface — I feel it in the flash of gold in his eyes whenever my name is spoken, in the low rumble of his voice about the council.
“They’re coming for you, Trinity.” He says at last, his voice a low growl. “They’ve already made up their minds. My father says they’re bringing witnesses —
