CHAPTER TWENTY
My heart races as the fragmented images of my dream—or premonition—claw at the edges of consciousness. I've learned not to ignore these whispers of foresight; they've saved us more times than I can count. It's dawn, and the mountain air is still cold, laced with the promise of spring. The scent of pine and wet earth fills my lungs as I sprint toward the Alpha's quarters, the urgency propelling me faster.
"Torin!" I burst through the door without knocking, my words coming out in gasps. He turns, his brown eyes immediately reflecting concern. "I had a dream about Silas," I begin, trying to steady my breathing. "It was so vivid—I think it might be a premonition."
Torin rises from his desk, his features taut with attention. The morning sunlight catches the edges of his brown
