Page 130 of Knotted By my Pack
“Stop,” Julian says, voice sharp, cutting through the noise. “All of it. Halt construction. Effective immediately.”
Beckett blinks. “Sir?”
“Pull the crews off. Secure the equipment. I’ll issue a formal statement to the city later. But this—” He gestures to the destruction. “This isn’t happening. Not like this.”
Beckett stares. “Are you authorized to do that? We’re already mid-construction.”
“I’m Julian Vance,” he says, calm and cold. “I’m always authorized.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes Beckett flinch.
The crew starts to move, tension dissolving into confusion and nervous chatter. Julian watches them a second longer, then turns back to us.
“Let’s go.”
The truck ride to the bakery is quiet. No music. No small talk. Just the rumble of the engine and the distant crash of the tides.
I look out the window at this place we’ve all given something to. Some of us gave years. Some gave blood. And now we’re about to give Cora the truth.
All of it.
And pray she doesn’t hate us for it.
36
CORA
The bells above the bakery door jingle again.
I wipe my flour-dusted hands on my apron as I turn, already expecting it to be Mrs. Elderbrook returning for the strawberry tarts she always forgets. But it isn’t her.
It’s them.
All three of them.
Noah walks in first, his shoulders too tight for this early in the morning, followed closely by Elias—still rumpled from sleep, his dark hair a mess like he barely ran a comb through it—and then Julian.
Julian, who looks like he barely survived a war on the way here.
The sight of the three of them together at this hour makes something slide uneasily down my spine.
I slow down behind the counter, blinking at them like I’ve just spotted ghosts. Noah gives me a small nod. Elias meets my eyes for only a moment before looking away.
Julian—Julian is still at the threshold, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in.
I step forward, confused. “Hello to you too.”
They walk in, and the second the door closes behind them, I taste it in the air. The scent shift is unmistakable. Burnt ozone, sweat, and something bitter curling underneath.
Not fear, but something close. Tension coils around them, threaded between each step like wire pulled too tight.
Something’s wrong.
I come around the counter and hug Noah first. His arms wrap around me quickly, hard. Too hard. Then Elias.
He leans down, presses his face into my neck like he’s grounding himself. Julian lingers a second longer before stepping closer. When he finally hugs me, it’s awkward, stilted.
His breath catches against my shoulder.
