Stephen
"Alpha Rex?" I ask, gazing at the man sitting across from me.
He is older than I recall. Time has not treated him well. His black hair now approaches a color almost white, and deep creases etch themselves into his face like a topographical map of difficult years. He is at least twenty-five years my elder—perhaps more—and it's apparent in every creak of his stride, every breath that is just a bit too heavy. He strokes his chin with a fist, eyes sparkling with something I cannot read.
"May I ask the purpose of your visit?" I go on, my voice steady but firm. "What is it you require?"
Alpha Rex laughs softly, a low, rumbling sound like faraway thunder. The sort of laughter a man employs to try to soften the edge of something he suspects may cut too deep.
"Thanks for receiving me,
