The Alpha—tall, broad-shouldered, silver streaking through his dark hair—strode forward the moment Rowan stepped out of the car. His eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, softened with raw relief as he pulled Rowan into a fierce hug.
“You’re back,” he murmured against Rowan’s shoulder, voice thick. “How did you get out of the vault, dear boy? We searched every inch of those chains.”
Rowan’s body stiffened for half a second—barely noticeable—before he wrapped his arms around his father and returned the embrace. When he pulled back, his face wore the familiar, easy smile the family knew: calm, charming, the “normal” Rowan they had mourned and feared losing.
“Stubborn, I guess,” Rowan said lightly, shrugging one shoulder. “The chains weren’t as strong as everyone thought.”
The Alpha laughed
