LOGIN[RHYS]Sleep released its hold on me around four, same as most nights lately. I lay there another twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the ache under my ribs to loosen its grip.It never did.'Still here,' Soren offered, quiet as breath.'I know.'I got up. Lying still only made it louder.The packhouse woke slowly around me. Warriors nodded as I passed. A pup waved from the stairwell as if I'd personally hung the moon. Everyone treated me like a man who had everything he needed.I couldn't argue with any of it out loud.At the long table, two mates leaned into each other over coffee—her hand finding his without either of them looking, small and automatic, the kind of thing you only notice when you don't have it.I watched a beat too long before I made myself stop.Soren watched too. He didn't say anything about it. He never did anymore."Seeing anyone yet, or is that still a lost cause?" Tobias dropped into the seat across from me, grinning like he hadn't earned the qu
[CAINE]The patrol log ran three pages by the time I sat down to eat. Good. That's how mornings were supposed to go.I signed two supply authorizations between bites, initialed the grain shipment adjustment, and checked the western border numbers twice because they hadn't matched yesterday's. They matched today's. I moved on.By the time the rest of the pack was properly up, I'd already walked the training grounds once. Wolves cleared a path without being told to. Some things didn't need repeating twice.Kael stayed quiet at the back of my mind, same as he had for years now. Watchful. Settled.I called it discipline.Rhys handled the wolves themselves—injuries, disputes, and whatever emotional weather forty pack members needed managed on a given day.Zane, however, vanished into research half the time, pulling threads nobody else noticed were loose. He was a puzzle, but a useful one. As long as he kept finding answers, I let him be.Meanwhile, I kept the rest running. Stores. Patrols.
[SLOANE]The Assembly Hall already held more packs than I'd expected in one room.An herbalist near the front—older, with a silver-streaked braid, a voice built for carrying—was insisting the illness carried a curse signature. Cold iron in the blood. Disrupted spirit lines.A researcher two seats down wasn't having it."There's no curse signature that presents with elevated cortisol and a metallic taste," he said. "That's a symptom profile. Treat it as one.""You'd say that about anything you couldn't isolate under a microscope.""Because that's how you confirm anything is real."A third voice cut in from the far side—someone from a coastal territory, sharper, impatient. "While you two argue methodology, three more packs reported cases this week. Maybe table the philosophy."Nobody tabled it. The debate ran another twenty minutes—contagion, poison, sabotage—each theory arriving fully formed and immediately arguing with the others instead of the evidence.Nobody was studying the patter
[SLOANE]Packing the boys' rooms took an afternoon, whereas packing the clinic took three days.I called Mrs. Adina myself because she'd sent me referrals for two years and deserved better than a note taped to her door. She was quiet on the phone for a moment."The council," she answered finally. "Well. Of course they'd want you.""I'll still take calls. Just not walk-ins.""That's something." A pause. "You've done more for this street than you know, Dr. Davis."I didn't know what to do with that, so I thanked her and hung up before I had to figure it out.The butcher's wife cried a little when I told her, which surprised me more than it should have. I transferred the standing patient files to Dr. Hale two blocks over—competent, unremarkable, exactly what a general practice needed, and exactly what he'd been doing for a decade without complaint. He took the boxes without asking questions.Nobody asked about before.They never had. That was the whole point of five years.Ms. Evelyn pac
[SLOANE]"No. It's not."I read the two lines again. Scent recognition anomalies. No shared travel pattern. Something moving between packs that had never met, doing something specific to bond architecture that no infection had any business doing.Every line told me what had happened.Not one of them told me why.'Something is wrong,' Eira said again, quieter.'I know.'I hadn't felt this particular itch in years. Not dread. Something closer to an equation missing a variable, sitting unfinished where I could see it."Source pack?" I asked."Unlisted." Dr. Jackson straightened, already reaching for her coat. "This came through the information division, not the medical office. That means somebody flagged it before it was ready to be flagged.""Meaning nobody's confirmed it yet.""Meaning packs are hiding their numbers." She said it flatly. "Nobody wants to be the first territory to admit they can't handle something inside their own borders."Isla hadn't moved from the patient board, but
[SLOANE] I sent the reply at six-fifteen, between setting the table and the after-dinner conversation, which was shorter than I'd braced for. Mostly because Kai had located a pack registry in my bookshelf while I was in the kitchen and arrived at dinner with it already open to the relevant page, which meant his questions were more specific than I had prepared for and suggested he'd read considerably further than I'd intended to give him access to yet. "The Blackthorn Alphas are triplets," he announced to the table. "Yes." Remy looked up. "Three of them." "That's what triplets mean." "Three dads," he said, like he was doing arithmetic. "Yes." Oliver was watching me. "Did you know them? Before?" I answered what I could answer. I left the rest for later, for the version of later that had more shape to it. The council's confirmation came three days after. Temple Residency—Neutral Jurisdiction Classification. Full access to medical records across all registered packs. Unrestr







