The man arrived at dusk. He was not announced. He was not escorted. Leo, whose instincts usually demanded a blade at the throat of any uninvited guest, simply opened the gates of the mansion.
Leo's expression remained unreadable as he led the man through the lower hall of the Shadow Fang mansion.
They arrived at Ethan’s study, Leo opened the door.
The man was old, not frail, not bent but aged in the way of things that had survived too much history. His robes were plain, dark wool edged with symbols that had not been carved in stone for centuries. A worn-out leather satchel hung at his side.
Leo stepped aside, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
“Alpha,” he said quietly.
Ethan sat at his obsidian table, positioned at the center of the study. The table's surface was polish
