Diana's POV
The soft sound of pencil scratching against paper drifted through the open door as I passed the study. I paused, drawn by the unfamiliar voice explaining mathematical concepts in a gentle, melodic tone. Curiosity pulled me to the doorway, where I stood quietly observing the scene inside.
Damian sat at a polished oak table, his small face a picture of concentration as he copied numbers onto a sheet of paper. Across from him sat a woman I'd seen around the pack house but hadn't formally met—tall and willowy with silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a neat bun. She watched Damian work with patient attentiveness, occasionally nodding in approval.
"Very good," she praised when he showed her his completed problem. "You have a natural aptitude for numbers, young one."
Damian beam
