Eryx walks without a destination, his steps firm but directionless, like instinct is dragging him forward.
His path winds through the quiet of the pack house grounds,
There's no conscious intention behind his movements, yet every step feels necessary, driven by something beneath the surface.
He exits the main building and steps into the still, dense air of the night.
He finds himself approaching a stretch of old, disused buildings near the back edge of the compound. They're half-forgotten structures: abandoned, dusty, no longer of service to the pack.
No one visits them unless they have to.
As he nears the one in the center, his sharp ears catch a faint, muffled sound. Sobs. Guttural, restrained. Like someone's trying desperately to stay quiet but can't suppress the pain pushing up from inside.
The sound cuts into him before he even knows why.
He reaches the door, its frame old and warped, the handle rusted and loose. He places a hand on it.
