"Hello, is this Jared's mother? Your son has been injured in a fight at school. Please come immediately."
The voice on the other end was urgent, unstable—like a pack messenger delivering bad news across broken territory lines.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I shot up from my seat. "What? My son is injured?" My voice cracked, instinctively sharpened by panic.
The room changed instantly.
Elliot's chair scraped back.
Alpha pressure surged through the space as he stood at the same time, his expression tightening, instincts locking onto my distress before I could even finish the call. His gaze stayed fixed on me—intense, controlled, but no longer distant.
Then everything blurred.
Before I could process another word from the phone, Elliot grabbed my wrist.
Not gently.
Not roughly.
Decisively.
