The threat does not roar.
It whispers.
⸻
It arrives as a name spoken where it should not be known.
Zane is halfway through dawn watch, the heir warm and drowsy against his chest, when the bond tightens with a familiarity that makes his blood run cold.
Not danger.
Recognition.
Jason feels it too. He stiffens, hand hovering over the lattice, eyes widening.
“That’s not a probe,” he breathes. “That’s… personal.”
Zane doesn’t answer.
Because the whisper is already forming at the edge of his mind.
Zane.
Not spoken aloud.
Not forced.
Used.
⸻
The heir stirs sharply, a soft, startled sound escaping them. Their small fingers clutch at Zane’s collar, instinctively anchoring.
Zane presses his palm flat over their back.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, grounding himself in the weight of th
