As he walked through the gate, he heard whispers follow him.
"Lord Ivan..."
"Lord Ivan.."
The words reached him from different corners of the pack house, overlapping in quiet murmurs that carried through the space.
He could also hear familiar voices among the gathered men before he could enter, and when he finally did, he realized immediately that the meeting was already over and everyone was preparing to leave.
He stopped at the doorway. His hands slipped into his pockets, a habit he had always relied on when he needed to stay unreadable, when anger rose, or when nervousness threatened to show. Right now, both simmered beneath his skin, contained but present.
Before anyone turned, bodies stilled. Movements froze mid-action, as if they had sensed him before they saw him.
One by one, they turned toward the door, Ivan remained where he was.
