47. Challenges

Tanner's footfalls resounded ominously, each echoing like a dissonant note as he descended the narrow, creaking staircase leading to the pack's basement. A place he'd cautiously sidestepped for weeks, maybe even months. He'd initially ventured into this subterranean space for a mere inconsequential reason—rooting around for a wrench he thought he'd misplaced—but the situation quickly transcended its mundane beginnings. His eyes, drawn as though by some malevolent magnetism, were lingering on the reinforced steel door that sealed off a corner of the room. The chamber that held Yorgan.

Yorgan was the pack's captive, straddling the fraying line between the enemy and the bargaining chip. Tanner had successfully avoided this ethical gray area, but on this day, a particular restiveness hung in the air. It was as though the restless whispers of the wind outside had blown through the cracks and crevices of the pack house, agitating the souls within. This same undercurrent seemed to tug at Ta