POV: Jared
The front door slammed shut behind me as I stormed into the pack house. My chest heaved, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. Trina's pathetic excuses and fake tears still echoed in my head, but I didn't have time to waste on her. Something wasn't right, and I could feel it in my gut.
The silence was eerie. Too eerie. The air was heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I slowed my steps, my boots clicking against the polished wooden floor.
Then I saw it.
A faint, dark stain smeared across the bottom step of the grand staircase.
I froze.
It wasn't obvious at first—someone had tried to clean it up—but under the dim light, I could see it. Blood. My stomach twisted.
Slowly, I crouched down, running a finger along the edge of the smear. It had dried, but the sight of it made my hands clench into fists.
