Alpha Baron's POV
The morning air clung thick with tension, the kind I had grown too familiar with. There was a faint drizzle earlier, and now the dew on the windows cast a sheen over the glass, making the sun behind them look weaker than usual. I hated weak light. It reminded me too much of the soft-hearted fools that cluttered our council chambers with their indecision. Strength—that was what held a pack together. Not sentiment. Not softness.
I was in my office, the one built into the west wing of the estate, walls lined with war memorabilia and portraits of former alphas—ancestors who understood the gravity of legacy. I stood by the window, sipping from a dark cup of coffee. Bitter. Just how I liked it. No room for sugar-coated nonsense in my day.
"Henry," I called out without turnin
