Meredith.
I looked between Draven and Dennis. The silence stretched oddly, as if something had been spoken but not aloud.
Dennis's eyes flicked to his brother, and Draven's expression hardened in that quiet, unyielding way of his.
Something was happening—a current running between them that I wasn't meant to touch. My chest tightened with suspicion. They were planning something.
I reached out with my mind, testing the barrier. But where with ordinary wolves I could slip past their shields, hear the faint threads of thought… with them, I met only stone. Nothing.
My mind pressed against a wall too high, too thick, and it pushed me back.
Frustration pricked. How many secrets passed between them like this? How many conversations happened under my nose, beyond my reach?
For the first time, I found myself wishing—no, aching for the ability to read them, to rip through their walls and hear what they thought, what they plotted. To see them as clearly as they saw me.
