ALARIC
The woman wouldn’t stop trembling. Her husband, kneeling beside his son’s charred body, had the empty stare of someone who had already given up. I gave them thirty seconds to compose themselves. Not because I was compassionate, but because I needed them to speak clearly.
“From the beginning,” I ordered. “Leave nothing out.”
The woman swallowed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but when she finally spoke, her voice was steadier than I expected.
“Three months ago, our youngest son disappeared. Tomás. He’s fourteen,” she corrected with a sob. “He’s fourteen. He was fishing on the south coast and didn’t come back. We searched everywhere, reported it to the pack guards, but no one found anything.”
“And Rodrigo?” I asked.
“The alpha said he had probably run away from home. That teena
