Ronan’s POV
The air in the elder’s sitting room was heavy. Too heavy. It clung to my lungs like damp cloth, choking without pressure.
The elder sat hunched, his hand still trembling slightly against his knee. His wife hovered near the door, fussing with a tray she didn’t really want to carry. Damon was watching—eyes sharp, like he was waiting for the elder to slip and reveal something else.
My jaw locked. I couldn’t shake it. That voice. Heri’s voice. The echo of it still pulsed in my skull, haunting, taunting. And that damn house.
“Alpha Ronan,” the elder rasped, his voice cracked but steadying. “What I’ve said… that is all you can take from me.”
“Take?” I echoed, my tone sharper than I intended. “Or all you’re willing to give?”
His eyes flicked up. For a second—just a second—there
