Evander's POV
The map sprawled across the wall looked like a wound — red pins bleeding into black lines, each one marking a territory that was supposed to be mine.
Lantern light flickered over the steel beams, throwing long, cold shadows across the concrete. The South Warehouse never slept. Even at dawn, the place hummed with life — boots striking metal, low murmurs drifting through the corridors, the faint hiss of distant machinery.
It wasn't a palace. It wasn't meant to be. It was discipline built into walls, a place where mistakes bled and loyalty was sharpened like a blade.
I stood at the center of it all, hands clasped behind my back, eyes scanning the board that mapped out every inch of the southern territories. Every pin represented a wolf who owed me his life. Every circle marked a border I'd taken by force.
But even as I stared at the map, I felt it — that faint, gnawing pull beneath my ribs. Instinct. The kind that never quieted. Something wasn't right.
