Mei POV
The courtyard felt different in the morning. Not quieter. Not calmer.
Sharper.
The air carried a tension that clung to her skin, slipping beneath it like a warning she couldn't shake. Mei stepped out beside the West Wing staircase, her hands steady at her sides, her breathing measured. She had learned that much, at least. Control the outside, even when the inside refused to listen.
The pack was already gathered. Rows upon rows of wolves stood in formation, their postures rigid, their expressions carefully neutral. But their eyes… their eyes were alive. Watching and tracking her.
The bond pulsed faintly, low and constant, like a steady heartbeat against her wrist. Alaric was close. Not beside her, not yet, but near enough that she could feel the weight of his presence pressing against her spine. It steadied her.
