We reached the back door without incident, though Liam hesitated before opening it, his hand hovering over the knob as his head tilted slightly—listening again, but not with his ears. Whatever the plants were telling him caused another flash of alarm to cross his face.
He grabbed my wrist again, his fingers digging in almost painfully this time, and wrenched the door open. The warmth and noise from inside the clubhouse—music playing, voices talking, the familiar sounds of our daily life—spilled out into the night.
Liam didn't hesitate. He pulled me through the doorway into the light and heat of the building, into the space he feared most, proving beyond any doubt that whatever threatened us fromoutside was far more terrifying than his dread of enclosed spaces and crowds.
As the door slammed shut behind us, I caught a final glimpse of the garden. In the harsh glare of the security lights, the plants had gone completely still, as if holding their breath. Waiting.
Something was coming. And only Liam knew what it was.
I nearly collided with Bug as Liam dragged me through the common room, my mate weaving between startled club members with surprising agility.
Bug's scarred face registered shock as we barreled past him, Liam's golden eyes fixed determinedly on Butch's office door at the far end of the hallway.
The usual evening card games and conversations stuttered to a halt as we passed, confused glances following our frantic progress through the clubhouse.
I'd never seen Liam voluntarily enter a crowded room before, let alone pull me through one with such urgency.
"Rooster? What the hell—" Treat called out from the bar, Butch's mate setting down a glass he'd been drying.
I shook my head, unable to explain what I didn't understand myself. Liam's grip on my wrist remained firm as he pulled me forward, his slender body coiled with tension.
When we reached Butch's office door, he didn't hesitate or knock—another unprecedented breach of his usual caution. He simply shoved it open and pulled me inside.
Butch looked up from behind his desk, irritation flashing across his features at the interruption. Bear and Gunner flanked him, the three of them hunched over what looked like building plans for the warehouse renovation.
The irritation quickly morphed to surprise as he registered Liam's presence—this feral, skittish man who normally avoided enclosed spaces and strangers had just willingly entered the inner sanctum of the club's leadership.
"What's going on?" Butch demanded, straightening up.
Instead of cowering or retreating to a corner as I'd half-expected, Liam released my wrist and lunged for Butch's desk. Before anyone could react, he'd snatched up a pencil and shoved aside the building plans, flipping them over to expose the blank side. His hands moved with feverish speed as he began to draw.
Bear took a step forward, his massive frame tensing protectively, but I held up a hand. "Wait," I said, watching Liam work. "Something's wrong. Let him show us."
In under a minute, Liam had sketched a detailed map of the compound and surrounding area. The accuracy was startling—every building precisely placed, the tree line rendered with perfect spatial awareness, even the hidden security cameras marked in their exact locations. It was the work of someone who'd spent months observing every inch of our territory.
"How does he know where all the cameras are?" Gunner muttered, moving closer to the desk.
Liam didn't acknowledge the question. His pencil continued moving rapidly across the paper, adding new elements to the drawing—small X marks forming a perimeter around the compound. Then he added crude, but recognizable human figures at each X, equipped with what were clearly meant to be weapons.
"What am I looking at, kid?" Butch asked, leaning over the drawing. "What are these?"
Liam gestured urgently around the perimeter of his drawing, then made a gun shape with his fingers, pointing it toward the center of the compound. His meaning was unmistakable.
"We're surrounded?" Bear growled, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that indicated his shifter was close to the surface.
Liam nodded emphatically, adding more details to the figures—tactical gear, communication devices, positions ofconcealment. His golden eyes flickered up to Butch's face, silently pleading to be believed.
"How do you know this?" Butch demanded, skepticism warring with concern in his expression.
I stepped forward. "He can talk to plants," I said, the words sounding absurd even to my own ears despite having witnessed Liam's ability firsthand. "They warned him. That's how he found all the surveillance devices yesterday."
Three pairs of eyes stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
"Plants," Gunner repeated flatly. "You're saying plants told him we're about to be attacked."
Liam's pencil moved faster, adding more figures to the drawing, arrows indicating movement patterns. He tapped the paper impatiently, golden eyes blazing with frustration at their hesitation.
"Look, I know how it sounds," I said. "But you saw how he found those bugs. Twelve of them, exactly where he said they'd be."
