STORM BREWING

Logan paced the dimly lit corridor outside Andrea's room, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. The encounter had left him shaken, his usual composure unraveling in the face of her understanding gaze and gentle touch. He clenched his fists, struggling to regain control.

As he walked, the echoes of the pack settling into sleep surrounded him, a comforting reminder of his responsibilities. Yet, tonight, those responsibilities felt like chains binding him to a fate he couldn't escape.

The commotion that had stirred him from his restless pacing originated from the far end of the hallway—a muffled argument between two men, their voices strained with urgency. Logan hesitated, torn between investigating and retreating to the solitude of his own thoughts.

But duty called, and he moved towards the source of the disturbance. As he approached, the voices grew louder, snippets of conversation floating to him through the thick silence of the night.

"... should have told her..."

"...not his