SnowDancer territory smells different after war. Metal. Snow. Blood scrubbed too late from concrete. The pack is still on high alert—wolves moving in silent coordination, sentinels stationed at every perimeter point. The mountain itself seems to be holding its breath. Nyssa Al Ghul moves through the triage wing with her jacket already shrugged off, sleeves rolled, hands bare. Her wolf hasn’t fully settled since the first howl went up—since Ming LeBon’s name turned from threat to reality. She’s a SnowDancer sentinel, senior rank. Not alpha—but close enough that others step aside when she passes. “Incoming human medic,” someone says quietly over the comms. Nyssa’s wolf leans forward inside her—alert, curious, oddly quiet. “Nyssa,” she says. “SnowDancer sentinel. You’re under my protection while you’re here.” Nyssa’s mouth curves, just slightly. “You’ll get both.” As they walk side by side toward the treatment rooms, Nyssa becomes acutely aware of her wolf doing something unusual—not prowling, not posturing. Inside, Nyssa Al Ghul realizes—too late, too suddenly—that meeting Daisy Lance may be the most dangerous thing that’s happened to her yet. And she doesn’t want to retreat. "Move in with me? to my bedroom. Please?"