Prophesy

Graeme sighed miserably, raking a hand down his face. There were few who he would allow to see the torment he was in. It would be unsettling for the pack if they were aware of it. He was their leader—he was the strongest among them, and to see how internally he felt like he was crumbling would be alarming for sure. But Maggie and Sylvia were like mothers to him.

"You have not been sleeping," Maggie said softly.

She was staying in the Hallowell home in Graeme's old room, and she was aware that most nights Graeme did not come back to the house at all. He remained in his office in the pack house. One of them—Samuel or Greta or Maggie herself—would inevitably find him slumped over in his chair in the morning after spending most of the night awake, worrying for his mate.

"You are right. I haven't been sleeping," he chuckled miserably, raking a hand through his hair this time before settling his hands on his hips with another heavy sigh. He was exhausted—emotionally and physically.