JACOB
The sound of children screaming was not what I’d call peaceful.
But it was honest.
Their laughter echoed off the bright mural-painted walls of the newly finished Rogue Foundation Day Care, bouncing between scattered foam blocks, oversized bean bags, and a play kitchen that someone’s kid had already weaponized into a command center. Crayons were rolling across tables. Someone was crying near the toy bin—whether out of joy or chaos, it was hard to tell.
It smelled faintly of naptime, baby powder, and cheese crackers. The chaos was deafening, but pure. Real.
I stood in the doorway beside Derek King, who looked like he’d rather be in the middle of a rogue ambush than standing here watching a toddler chew on a stuffed raccoon.
He had that stoic Alpha look on, the one where his face
