Darius
Three days before my letter reached Zephyr's breakfast table, a fruit seller named Old Tomas asked to see me after market day.
I almost sent the Beta. That's the honest truth, and it kept me up at night for a week after. Alphas drown in small audiences, disputes over stall placement, a goat in the wrong garden, and Old Tomas was famous for complaints that started at his blood pressure and arrived at his opinions about the youth. But my father used to say the pack speaks through its oldest mouths, so at sundown I sat across from Tomas in my study and poured him the good tea.
He didn't want to talk about stall placement.
"Saturday last," he said, turning his cap in his hands. "The morning your sister was in town with the Ashford boy, buying dresses. Whole market saw them, Alpha, a
