The tension in the air was thick, the kind that made your skin prickle. You stood just outside the circle, watching Alcide pace in front of the pack elders, his jaw set, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the strain behind his calm expression.

"They don’t think you’re ready," you said quietly, stepping up beside him.

He didn’t look at you at first. Just kept pacing, his eyes flicking toward the older wolves seated before him—judging, waiting, doubting. "Doesn’t matter what they think," he said finally, voice low but strong. "They didn’t fight for this. I did."

"You don’t have to prove anything to them, Alcide," you murmured, your voice steady. "You’ve already earned it."

He finally turned to you, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Then why does it feel like I’m still fighting every damn day?"

You didn’t have an answer for that. All you could do was be there. Be his calm. You’d seen the weight of leadership settling on his shoulders ever since he’d stepped into the role, and though he carried it with strength, it was wearing him down.

"You don’t have to do it alone," you said.

"I know," he replied, softer now. "But sometimes it feels like I’m the only one willing to do it at all."