The pack house didn't feel loud after the attack.
It felt controlled in a way that made every small sound mean more than it should. Doors didn't slam, wolves didn't cluster to whisper, and no one ran through the corridors shouting questions they couldn't afford answered out loud. Cassian's orders moved through Grimridge the way blood moved through a body, quietly, efficiently, and without needing to announce themselves.
Sable stayed in the upper wing because she had promised she would, and because her body agreed with the promise more than her pride did. The den held its shape behind her like an anchor, and the moment Cassian stepped out again to seal seams elsewhere in the pack house, her instincts surged hard enough that nausea rose with it. She pressed a hand to her mouth, breathed through her nose, and forced herself not to chase him down the stairwell like a reckless wolf in love.
Mara watched her closely without saying anything until the wave eased.
