The sound of shattering glass woke me.
At first, I thought I was dreaming—caught in one of those hazy, half-conscious states where everything feels too loud, too sharp.
But then came the screams.
Real. Terrified.
I bolted upright in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs. The sharp scent of mental hit my nose before I even opened the door.
Blood.
Another scream.
Then a snarl. Followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood.
I threw the door open just in time to see a rogue wolf lunging down the corridor, its massive body knocking aside one of the pack guards like he was made of straw.
Panic surged through me, but training kicked in. My fingers curled around the knife I'd hidden beneath my pillow.
The hall was chaos—wolves in human form rushing to shift, younger members scrambling to find safety.
The rogue was wild-eyed, foam clinging to its lips as it snapped its jaws and lunged at anything that moved.
