The empty feeling in the historic farmhouse bothers me more than it should. I've been alone most of my life—solitary by necessity as The Elyat, Chief Enforcer for the International Council of Old Races. But that was before the Pack: Parker with her Fae chaos, Hardison with his tech wizardry, and Quinn—my Mate, my SIC, my balance.

The house feels too quiet with only Sheena and Davin maintaining the grounds. Quinn's in Sweden investigating odd deaths for the Council. Parker and Hardison are at Walter's, the Guardian who raised me, learning to control Parker's Fae abilities. Just me and the ghosts of missions past.

I head to the kitchen, craving the distraction of cooking, when a crash echoes from the family room. The wards Sheena and I set would vaporize any intruder who isn't Pack. Only family could bypass them.

"How was your trip?" I ask as Parker materializes in the doorway.

She flings herself at me, legs wrapping around my waist. "Walter says 'Hi!' and sent you stuff!" She smacks a kiss on my cheek before releasing me to watch Hardison untangle himself from the floor.

"How far did she port you?" I offer a hand to the hacker.

"From the airport. Refused to call, rent a car, or take the shuttle." He grabs my calloused hand to pull himself up. "Where's Quinn?"

"Sweden, checking deaths for the Council."

"Any clients needing our special brand of help?"

"Not yet." I pause, sensing the air shifting, the subtle charge that precedes trouble. "But something's coming."

By morning, that feeling crystallizes into cold certainty. A sedan idles at the head of the drive as I finish my boundary run. Two Naval officers inside, waiting for morning light. My wolf senses catch their muted heartbeats, the scent of official grief.

Someone's dead. And with military casualty officers at my door, it's someone I knew.

I shower, start the coffee, and open the door before they can ring. No need to wake Parker and Hardison yet.

"Didn't mean to startle you. My sister and her partner got in late." I listen to their formal announcement—Commander Christopher Fike, wolf shifter, former teammate under Colonel Vance. A friend. Part of my Pack, even if he never officially joined.

"Let's have coffee. You can give me the details."

By the time they finish, I know one thing for certain: This wasn't just a military murder. And NCIS has no idea what they're dealing with.