Darien
She was dressed, her hair was pulled back. She had color in her face, though not as much as she should have. She looked functional, which was the word I kept using because “healthy” wasn’t accurate and “recovering” was starting to feel like a lie we all told ourselves.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Never.” I stood and pulled out a chair for her beside the desk. She sat down and I watched the way she lowered herself into it, carefully, with the controlled precision of someone who was managing their energy expenditure the way you manage a budget, every movement accounted for, nothing wasted.
“What are we talking about?” she asked.
“The packs refused relocation. And Harlan’s gone dark.”
She nodded slowly, processing. “The refusals make sense. These alphas have been independent
