60 Ben
A faint, muted light filters up from somewhere deeper in the basement, casting long shadows across the narrow staircase. The silence is almostplete-no creaks, no distant voices. That''s to be expected; most packhouse basements are soundproofed carefully. They don''t want to unsettle the Omegas with the harsh noises of an aggressive interrogation. I''m trailing the faint but distinct scent of Sam and Junior, the only fresh odors in this otherwise stale, cold space. Behind me, about five steps back, I can hear Owen and Damon''s footsteps, steady but cautious.
At the bottom of the stairs, I find myself in a root cer—a simple, utilitarian room designed for practical storage of food through the winter months. The walls are lined with in doors, each likely leading to separatepartments. Suddenly, a scuffle behind the door farthest from me catches my attention. My heart races as I nearly sprint toward it. Junior is in trouble-I can feel it deep in my gut.
When I swing open the door, the sight before me stops me cold. Luna Sam sits slumped on a cot, her back pressed against the cold wall. Her head tilts upward, eyes closed, as if lost in some distant, painful memory. She looks utterly worn down -disheveled in a way I''ve never seen before, not even during the hardest times of mourning for her mate. But my gaze quickly shifts away from her to the cage nearby, where a snarling, feral wolf paces restlessly.
"Junior?" I whisper, barely daring to breathe. Damon and Owen flinch beside me, as if the name itself carries weight. "What happened to you?" I ask, though I don''t expect an answer.
Junior''s wolf is a pitiful sight-matted fur, raw and mangy from repeatedly ramming himself against the unyielding silver bars of his cage. His eyes, normally a warm chocte brown, ze a terrifying crimson, filled with pure rage. The wolf stalks back and forth, muscles tense, as though wrestling with some inner torment.
"He''s been like this for a month," a hoarse voice murmurs behind me. I turn to see Luna Sam leaning forward slightly, exhaustion etched deep into her face. Her hair is greasy and tangled, pulled back in a messy knot, and dark circles shadow her eyes.
I approach her slowly, trying to push past the growling beast behind me. “Sam, what happened?" I ask gently, noting that she doesn''t respond to theck of formality in my tone.
She inhales deeply, then lets out a shaky sob. "I don''t know. They were out patrolling and came back fine. But the next morning, he woke up... different. Angry. Ready to fight anyone who crossed his path.” Her voice breaks as she continues, “I had to send the staff away because it wasn''t safe. He''s too strong-unnaturally strong." A low, guttural growl from the cage confirms the wolf''s agreement. Whatever this is, it''s not Junior anymore. His wolf is in control, but something else seems to have taken hold of it. It''s the only exnation that makes sense.
"Where is everyone else? Why aren''t there warriors here with you? Why didn''t you call for help?" I ask, my concern deepening.
Her eyes, heavy with sadness, meet mine. I see the helplessness there, raw and unguarded. “We don''t know what this is,” she says softly. "All the warriors who were with him during the patrol have been checked out, but he''s the only one suffering from this... affliction." She struggles to find the right word. "I don''t know if it''s contagious. I couldn''t risk it spreading, so I sent everyone away for their own safety." A tear slips down her cheek, tracing a silent path of sorrow.
"And you? Who''s looking after you?" I kneel down before her, feeling a surge of protectiveness I didn''t expect. This Luna, so strong andposed before, now looks fragile and small. My Beta instincts kick in hard—I want to shield her from this nightmare, but I''m not sure how.
"Hey, Ben," Owen''s voice breaks through my thoughts. "Are you picking up anything on your shadow marker senses?" I nce over my shoulder, momentarily forgetting they were there.
I pause, tuning in to my own senses. "No," I say after a moment''s thought. "I''m fine right now. Why?"