Gianna’s lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile, and the sound of it scraping across the room feels almost physical as she folds her arms across her chest like she has already won something she did not earn.
“She’s insubordinate,” Gianna says loudly, her tone sharp and performative as though she is presenting formal charges instead of throwing a tantrum. “She ran from her Alpha, she disobeyed direct authority, and she thinks she can walk back in here like nothing happened.”
Ezra does not look at her.
His gaze locks onto me instead, steady and unreadable, and that somehow feels worse than anger because I cannot tell what he is thinking.
“What are you doing here,” he asks, and his voice is calm enough to fool everyone else in the room even though I can feel tension coiled beneath it like
