DARIAN
The kitchen is dark at this hour, save for the faint glow of the moon spilling through the high windows. I’m not supposed to be here, not as Alpha, not at midnight, but the restless energy in my chest won’t let me stay in bed.
I tell myself I came down for a glass of water. I know I’m lying to myself the moment I hear the soft shuffle of feet and the sound of cupboards opening and closing.
She’s here. Alone.
Amaya’s hair has fallen loose from its tie, brushing her shoulders as she wipes down the counter. She hasn’t noticed me yet. The sight hits me harder than it should. Sleeves rolled up, face smudged with flour, eyes narrowed in concentration as if the task at hand is the only thing that matters.
I clear my throat. “You’re working late.”
She jumps, spinning around, eyes wide
