The silence in the den was alive.
Not with breath or movement—but with pressure. As if the air itself knew the name she’d spoken. As if it was holding its breath, too.
Raze hadn’t moved since she said the words. The first Alpha. The fire in his eyes had gone out, replaced by something colder. Deeper. Older.
Cain leaned against the stone doorframe like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb, but Amara saw it now—the tightness in his jaw. The muscle ticking. He wasn’t nearly as composed as he pretended to be.
“He said I was his,” she whispered, curling her arms around herself. “That my blood remembers him.”
Raze exhaled through his nose. “It would.”
“You knew.” Her voice cracked on the accusation. “Both of you.”
Cain’s eyes flicked to her. “Not exactly. We knew something was off. That the bloo
