I make it three steps out of the packhouse before I feel it.
That quiet, unmistakable weight that settles over the air when someone with real authority enters the space behind you. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just present, like the world subtly reorients itself around them.
“Cheyenne.”
I stop.
Slowly, I turn around.
Alpha Steven stands at the top of the steps, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He isn’t blocking my exit. He isn’t looming. Respectful distance. Measured posture. His gaze is sharp, but not hostile. Curious more than anything else.
Landon stiffens beside me. I don’t need to look at him to know that. I can feel it. His attention locks tight, coiled and alert, like he’s bracing for impact.
“Yes, Alpha,” I say, dipping my head just enough to acknowledge rank without fo
