Rowan's POV
The courtyard had emptied by the time I went back for my forgotten gloves, most of the competition's wreckage already cleared away by staff eager to erase evidence of the afternoon's chaos. I hadn't expected to find anyone still there.
Mira stood near the abandoned judging table, back to me, apparently unaware she wasn't alone.
She was imitating me.
Chin lowered. Jaw set. Eyebrows drawn into the exact flat, humorless line I apparently wore whenever forced into situations demanding polite tolerance rather than genuine enthusiasm. She'd even nailed the particular way I clasped my hands behind my back during formal moments, the stance I'd learned from my father before I was old enough to understand why an Alpha needed one.
"This has been," she intoned, pitching her voice low,
