Mara
From across the yard, I watch him.
Ronan moves through the crowd of returning patrol wolves with his usual deliberate pace, pausing to hear a report, to check a blade, to clasp a shoulder in wordless approval.
To most eyes, nothing’s wrong. The Alpha is here. The Alpha is steady. The Alpha is still the Alpha.
But I’ve known him too long to be fooled.
There’s a looseness in him now that I’ve never seen before. A subtle slack in the rope that usually keeps him pulled taut.
His shoulders aren’t quite as coiled. His eyes aren’t scanning quite as far. And while his attention is here, listening to some young Delta recount a Silvercrest merchant’s panic at a broken wagon wheel, I can tell his mind is elsewhere.
Or, more precisely, on someone else.
Eli’s nowhere in sight, but I don’
