He blinked.
“Pardon?”
“Almost dying,” I amended smoothly. “At the shrine.”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. A narrow escape.”
If he only knew.
He hovered another moment, then moved to a shelf near the back, fingers trailing along spines until he pulled out a thick, cracked‑spine volume.
“Histories of Blood Oaths and Other Unadvisable Pacts,” he said, setting it carefully on the table. “Mostly cautionary tales. Here.” He added two more—one thinner, bound in darker leather, another a stack of loosely tied folios. “Northern Lore. Conflicts with rogue enclaves.”
“Perfect,” I said.
“If you find something… concerning,” he added, “I would request that you bring it to my attention. Or to the Alpha’s.”
“I will,” I lied, or at least left strategically flexible.
He gave me one last,
