Ayla's POV
Three short raps — not Kael's measured knock or Soren's single quiet one.
Ryker.
I didn't move. Another knock followed, more urgent than the first.
"Ayla." His voice came through rough, stripped of its usual edge, like he was working hard to sand it down before it arrived. "I know you're on the floor."
I frowned at the door.
"He can smell where you are," Tala said. "You're wolves, remember? No privacy."
I dragged myself up, crossed the room, and opened the door.
Ryker filled the frame the way he always did — too much presence for the space available, his shoulders taking up more of the hallway than was strictly necessary. His dark hair was a disaster, like he'd run his hands through it too many times since coming upstairs. A small bruise was already forming near his jaw
