Elena's POV
My alarm went off at 4:30 AM. I slapped it quiet and stared at the ceiling, my stomach already in knots. Dawn wouldn't break for another hour, but I couldn't sleep anymore. Not with today looming ahead of us.
"Diplomatic mission," I muttered, dragging myself out of bed. "Right."
In twenty years as the pack's head healer, I'd seen enough bullet wounds and claw marks to know how "diplomatic" werewolves typically got. I'd patched up the aftermath of Scott's "negotiations" more times than I could count.
I pulled on dark jeans and a black sweater, then began packing my medical bag. Regular supplies wouldn't cut it today. I reached to the back of my cabinet for the silver wound treatment kits—specialized burn cream and extraction tools for silver bullet wounds.
"Just in case," I whispered……
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