LUTHER
There’s no victory in silence. The dead don’t cheer. The dead don’t bow. They just f*****g linger—like ghosts in the marrow, like the weight pressing against my ribs every time I take a goddamn breath.
You know, it’s kinda funny because I told myself I’d be a different kind of Alpha. That I would rule with strength, but not with cruelty. That I would command power, but not at the expense of my own people. That I would never become the man who raised me.
Did my father tell himself the same lie?
Did he once stand in the same place I do now, drowning in the weight of a crown that no man is ever truly prepared to wear? Did he swear to be better, to rule differently, only to find that power is nothing but a slow, rotting poison?
Because power is a hungry thing. It devours. It consum
