Christian’s POV
It’s been two weeks.
Two weeks of nothing.
No scent. No trace. No leads.
Nothing.
I stood on the porch of the pack house, my hand gripping the railing so tightly that I could feel the wood splinter beneath my fingers. The frustration that simmered beneath my skin was boiling over, pushing me to the brink. My chest heaved, a mixture of exhaustion and fury coiling inside me like a beast ready to break free.
Everyone was doing their best. I knew that. But knowing didn’t help. Knowing didn’t stop the gnawing, biting anxiety from shredding me apart. It didn’t silence the cold whisper at the back of my mind that something had happened to Mia—something irreparable.
I couldn’t rest. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t breathe until she was back in my arms.
“Christian.”