The silence in Silas’s office was suffocating, thick with the scent of old paper, cold coffee, and the sharp, electric tang Jorah carried from the woods.
Silas did not offer his hand, nor did he offer refreshment. He walked directly behind his broad oak desk, pulled the high-backed leather executive chair forward, and took his seat. It was a calculated position, an established bulwark of authority and territory within his own home. Ivy sat immediately to his left, perching on the edge of the low armchair, her knees pressed tightly together and her hands knotted in the fabric of her skirt.
Jorah understood the dynamic instantly. An alpha did not survive for two decades without recognizing the geography of power. Instead of remaining standing—which would have loomed over the desk and proje
