Up close, the rogue wasn’t impressive.
After the way his scent had smeared the air in the yard, Aria had pictured some hulking, rabid thing with madness in its eyes. Instead, the man sitting on the low stool in the small room above the storeroom was lean to the point of gaunt, cheeks hollow, dark smudges beneath his eyes.
His hands were free, resting on his knees, but heavy shackles circled his ankles, a chain running back to an iron ring in the wall. He didn’t look particularly dangerous. He looked tired.
He studied a crack in the floorboards like it fascinated him more than the wolves in the doorway.
Rowan stood with his shoulder against the wall, arms loose at his sides, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all. Jarek and Tamir flanked the door, one on each side, easy targets that
