I had been back for several days, but the pack house still felt like a place I was visiting instead of home.
I noticed the changes everywhere I looked. New paint on some of the hallway walls. Different furniture in the common room. Faces I didn't know passed me in the mornings: younger wolves who nodded with careful respect and older ones whose eyes lingered, measuring the decade I'd missed against the man standing in front of them.
Yesterday I stood in the planning room for a long stretch, fingers tracing the updated territory maps. Graymoor had swallowed more land than I expected. Borders I remembered as jagged arguments now sat firmly under pack control.
Callum found me there.
"Still measuring how much we stole?" he asked.
I didn't turn right away. "Looks like you stole it well."
He gave a low chuckle and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. We ended up in the small side room off the kitchen. The table was the same scarred oak. At least something hadn't moved.
