The sleek black SUV cut through the eerily empty streets of Shadow Crest, our small convoy moving swiftly toward the pack house. I sat rigid in the back seat, one hand protectively covering my belly, the other clutching the door handle as if it could somehow anchor me to safety.
"Something's not right," Gideon muttered from the driver's seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. His eyes constantly scanned the road ahead, the buildings we passed, the sky above. The tension radiating from him did nothing to ease my frayed nerves.
"You've been saying that since we left the safe house," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "What exactly are you sensing?"
Gideon's shoulders bunched with tension. "It's too quiet. Where are the civilians being evacuated? Where are the pack patrols? This doesn't match standard emergency protocols."
