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075 | WARPATH

For the first time in my life, I knocked on the door of my own family’s Pack House. It felt wrong, but as the silence swelled, deafening in its potency, I felt like I had to. Rather than entering my family home as I always had, suddenly the idea of pushing open the door and just walking in felt like I was intruding. Like I was an outsider.

Part of me expected to find nobody.

Another, darker part of me expected to find bodies. I blinked away images of Valeria, of the wolves that had been piled on top of her, and shuddered.

I could hear the ever-present lapping of waves in my right ear and Ares’s laboured breathing. I strained my hearing; had I imagined that groan of wood just inside the door?

And then the door creaked open.

“Mum?” I breathed, squinting into the hallway. She peered around the thin crack she’d opened it to, her eyes widening as she saw me – and then narrowing as they fixed on Ares.

She yanked the door open so fast I didn’t react. I couldn’t. “You bastard,” she snarled,
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