Rowan hadn’t meant to stop.
He’d been on his way to speak with Dustin—patrol rotations, border adjustments, the usual tightening of defenses that came after a threat—but the moment he reached the edge of the common room, his steps slowed.
Then stopped altogether.
Holly sat at the long table near the hearth.
She wasn’t at the head. She wasn’t centered. She wasn’t commanding anything.
She was listening.
Lila leaned in close, speaking animatedly, her hands moving as she described something—probably a story from before they ran. Mira sat back in her chair, posture loose but alert, one boot hooked casually around a rung. Serena occupied the space beside them like she belonged there—because she did—but even she had turned slightly toward Holly, attention subtly anchored.
And the omegas—
