The heavy, suffocating silence that had settled over the rear courtyard of the Alberta mansion didn't just linger—it solidified, turning the very air into shards of ice. Thousands of battle-hardened wolves, Alphas and Betas who had spent their entire lives learning how to interpret the slightest shift in their master's mood, froze in absolute terror.
They didn't breathe. They didn't twitch. The only sound in the entire clearing was the rhythmic, ominous thud of leather boots against stone.
Varg was descending the grand, frost-bitten stone staircase.
He moved with an agonizing, deliberate slowness, every single step striking the ground with such immense force that it felt as though he were driving a permanent mystical seal, a blood-claim, deep into the ancient earth beneath him.
