Damian's P.O.V.
The house was quiet. Not eerily so, but in a way that settled deep in my bones, like a long exhale after holding my breath for too long.
I stood by the window, watching as Rowan, Lucian, and Lilith disappeared into the distance. The pack house would be in good hands. My sons were more than capable. But for the first time in decades, I wasn’t the one leading them.
And I didn’t mind it one bit.
A soft hum drew my attention back inside. Kiera moved through the kitchen, her hair loosely tied back, the soft morning light catching strands of gold in the dark. She had no idea how beautiful she was like this—untouched by war, untouched by fear.
She turned, catching me staring. “You’re smiling.”
I smirked, stepping toward her. “Am I not allowed?”
“You are.” She set down a cup
