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100

Adrian's POV

The footsteps were deliberate. Not rushed, not cautious—just steady, confident. Someone who belonged here. Someone who wasn't worried about being caught.

I pressed my back to the cold stone wall, muscles tight, every sense on high alert. My wolf was restless beneath my skin, urging me to prepare for a fight, but I forced myself to stay still. I wasn't getting caught now. Not when we had just started putting together a plan.

Silas moved in the shadows opposite me, his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike if necessary. The rest of the rebels had scattered quickly, melting into hidden passageways and side tunnels. But if this person got too close—if they so much as smelled the lingering scent of multiple wolves in one place—we'd have to act.

The footsteps stopped just outside the chamber.

Silence.

Then a low exhale. A muttered curse.

I recognized the voice.

Ronan.

One of Mason's enforcers.