In spite of the chaos howling through the pack-linked networks, I stayed beside my father's bed in Presgrave Hospital, refusing to let the noise outside touch the fragile space between us. His presence was still there, faint but fading, like a bond stretched thin between life and something I refused to name. I sat motionless, staring at his pale face, forcing my instincts to stay controlled even as everything inside me wanted to fracture.
I could not break. Not here. Not now.
Across the city, at the Tillman Residence, Erica was feeding on the chaos instead of drowning in it. I could feel it even without seeing her—her attention locked onto the screens, scrolling through wave after wave of reports and clips spreading through the pack's human interface and hidden channels. The more she consumed, the more her frustration grew, sharp and restless like a caged wolf pacing too long.
Then her phone rang.
Alex.
"Hey," she answered, her tone already edged with impatience.
