The morning sun barely stretched through the stained-glass windows of the main house. It cast fractured light across the long marble hallway leading into Seth’s strategy room. Despite the calm glow outside, tension brewed like a storm inside the house. This had become the natural aura of Seth’s home. Raw, crackling tension.
He sat behind his desk, surrounded by reports, half-read communiqués, and error logs. His jaw was clenched, his mind split between urgency and something far more intangible. It was an ache he couldn’t put into words, so he resorted to anger.
Corwin entered without knocking.
“Alpha, there’s an update from the southern watch. Another patrol error. They mistook two of our own for smugglers. Shot one.” He said, ignoring the annoyed look on Seth’s face.
Seth’s hand still
