Hope

The sound rips through the tunnels like something dragged straight out of hell.

It isn’t a howl.

It isn’t even a roar.

It’s a guttural, twisted call that scrapes against the concrete walls and claws its way into my bones.

My wolf jerks violently inside me. That is wrong. That is not ours.

My heart stutters.

Keith.

He’s out there.

Tirianna. Lina. All of them.

The security tunnel smells like metal and fear—oil from the generators, damp earth, sickness, antiseptic. Women huddle with their children. Elders sit on cots. A few of the sick are wrapped in blankets against the cold that always lives underground.

And that sound echoes...