Ronan’s POV
The elder stood at the doorway, framed by the dim afternoon light. His steps were measured, but his presence carried the weight of someone used to respect. His hair had silvered, skin weathered by time, but his eyes… sharp. Searching.
“Alpha Ronan,” he greeted, voice low, resonant. “I apologize for the delay.”
I inclined my head. “Your wife received us graciously.”
He glanced toward the table, the untouched tea, the cooling biscuits, then back to me. His gaze lingered, reading me the way old wolves do. “I imagine you didn’t come only to drink tea.”
“No.” I gestured to the seat opposite. “There are matters I need your insight on. Private matters.”
He lowered himself slowly, hands resting on his knees, posture still proud. “Then speak.”
The room quieted. Even the tick of t
