By late afternoon the entire pack moved like a single tense muscle. The air carried the sharp scent of worry. Warriors walked in and out of the packhouse with clipped steps, grabbing weapons, checking radios, and speaking in low voices that did nothing to calm the energy in the halls.
Something was wrong.
Everyone felt it.
But I felt it first.
It started as a faint pressure behind my ribs. Then a slow burn along my spine. Then a prickling heat at the back of my neck that made my wolf lift her head and growl softly.
I stopped mid-step in the main hall.
Ronan was beside me, talking to Jonah about patrol rotations, when he froze and looked over his shoulder at me.
“Ayla,” he said quietly. “What is it?”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “The south.”
“What about it?”
“Something is there.”
