DARRAGH’S POV
The church felt smaller with everyone packed inside. Werewolves from across the territory had come to pay their respects to Gamma Killian. The old stone walls echoed with quiet conversations and the rustle of formal clothes. I sat in the front row with my family, staring at the polished wooden casket surrounded by white lilies.
He would have hated the flowers. Killian Bryne always said white lilies were for people who lived boring lives. And whatever else he was, boring wasn’t it. He’d been Sara’s grandfather—mine only in the most distant, political sense. She sat three rows behind us now. I could feel her presence like a weight on my shoulders, but I refused to turn around.
Father shifted beside me, adjusting his tie for the third time. The bandage was gone from his head
