Joel snapped awake, the door slamming open like a bomb went off. He grunted, deep and rough. “Mm, what the hell…” Lifting his head as his wolf form blinked blearily. His cheek fur stuck out in wild patches, ears twitching in confusion.

The scent hit before his eyes adjusted—Jesse. Earth, smoke, sweat. Familiar. Grounding. “Get your ass up, Doyle.” Jesse said, standing at the foot of his bed like she owned it. “Didn’t walk all the way across the compound to watch you nap." Joel’s ears perked. That tone? Trouble.

“They found a pup in one of the alleys.” She added, voice sharp. “Abandoned. Oakley’s with ‘em, but we need you down there. Now.” She yanked the blankets off. Cold air slapped his skin. Joel growled under his breath, shifting forms fast, bones popping as he stood upright. He pulled on his usual shirt and jacket, slipped into jeans, and was out the door without another word, Jesse closed the door behind them.

Outside, the night air was crisp, but something about it felt off. Tense. As they neared the alley, the coppery sting of blood hit hard. Joel stopped, eyes narrowing. Oakley stood by the wall, arms crossed, shoulders tight. He didn’t look over when Joel came up—just kept his eyes on the shape curled in the shadows.

“They’re pretty beat up.” Joel observes. Oakley nods, murmuring back “I didn’t smell any pack scent on them, but they crossed into our territory like they had no other choice.” Joel ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “You think they got kicked out?” Oakley nodded. “Yeah. That, or worse. No way someone that young ends up out here unless they’ve got no one left.”

“Should we be callin’ Atlas?” Oakley asked, glancing down the alley. Joel shrugged his shoulders, voice quiet but steady. “Maybe. Just think we need to be smart about it. If someone comes lookin’ for ‘em, we better be ready.”

Joel grunted. Then walked forward slowly and steadily. His boots crunched over gravel. He crouched beside them, voice low but firm.

“Hey. My name’s Joel. I’m the head of this pack.” He paused, letting that sink in. “You’re in our territory now. Look, you’re not in danger—but I need to know what the hell happened. You runnin’? You hurt?” His tone wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t soft either. Just real. Clear. He looked them over, careful not to crowd.

“We’ll get you patched up. But you gotta talk to me first, alright? My pack comes first.” And still, despite the firm tone, there was something protective in his posture. In the way he kept himself between them and the rest of the alley. Because that’s what he did—watched the walls, kept the kids safe, even if they weren’t his.

Yet.