Tia
I was getting nervous.
Days passed and father remained silent. Not a message from him, not a guard from, not a single word for him. Which could only mean one thing.
He was planning.
Meaning he was sitting and thinking, rewriting his strategy with every intention to hit even harder than before. Waiting was no longer an option for us. We had to do something.
I left my room in search of Owen, amplifying my hearing to find his location. The sound of his breathing gave him away, slow yet excited. I raised a brow. He was probably reading one of his books again.
It was what he did all day, if he wasn’t checking the parameters or checking in on Vanessa at the pack house. As a non–reader, I couldn’t understand his excitement or curiosity that came with reading another’s story off crispy
