The terror radiating from these women was still suffocating, even now that they were standing. It wrapped around them like a living thing, thick and poisonous, making the air itself feel contaminated with their fear.
My stomach remained twisted in knots as I watched Patricia, Jude, and Rylie sway on their feet, their bodies still trembling with such violence I could hear their jewelry rattling against their skin.
This wasn't respect. This wasn't even ordinary fear.
This was the kind of bone-deep terror that came from expecting death.
"I just want one of you to walk with me," I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts to sound calm. I reached toward Patricia—the closest one—but she flinched away so violently she nearly fell backward. "Show me around the pack house."
Patricia's face went even paler, if that was possible. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead despite the cool air.
