Damien feels it before he hears it.
Before he smells it.
Before he thinks it.
A shift.
A wrongness.
A pulse in the severed tether that should not exist — thin, frayed, but alive in the way a scar remembers the blade that made it.
He’s halfway down the west corridor when the sensation slams into him so violently he stumbles, one hand catching the wall. His wolf rips awake with a snarl that vibrates through his bones.
Not emptiness.
Not pain.
Presence.
Someone is near her.
Someone powerful.
Someone who is not him.
Damien’s chest tightens until breathing becomes a series of broken, rasping pulls.
“No,” he whispers, voice raw. “No, no—what is that?”
The tether flickers again — gentle, warm, stabilizing.
His wolf snarls, claws dragging deep grooves inside Damien’s consciousness.
