SCARLET’S POV
The dining hall smelled like roasted garlic and woodsmoke, and Lina was in the middle of ruining my appetite with a story about Ivy's latest attempt to humiliate her in front of half the pack when Roman walked through the doors.
Conversation dipped the way it always did around him — not silence, just a lowering, the whole room shrinking its voice by half without meaning to. He didn't look at me. He never looked at me first, not in public, not since the mark, like he thought showing it would give something away he wasn't ready to give.
"He's doing that thing again," Lina murmured, not bothering to hide that she was watching him cross toward the high table. "The thing where he pretends this room doesn't feel different the second he's in it."
"It's called being a king, Lina
