“This is way better than hospital food,” I mutter between bites.
He laughs softly.
“That’s not saying much.”
We talk about small things at first, about the café and a customer who spilled coffee all over himself and blamed Mom, and about how Sam has been strutting around town like nothing happened.
“That won’t last,” Carter says, and his voice goes hard for a second.
“They’re in the dungeon,” I tell him.
He glances at me sharply.
“For real.”
I nod.
“Alpha’s orders.”
He leans back slightly, processing that.
“Good,” he says finally.
We fall into easier conversation after that, laughing at things that should not be funny but somehow are, and for a while it almost feels normal, like before the hospital and the bond and the constant pressure.
The knock on the door this time is heav
