Third person POV
Lance had never thought he’d feel at home in the packhouse.
For most of his life, it had felt like a place he passed through—a stone monument to expectations he never quite fit. He’d slept there, eaten there, grown up there, but it had never felt like it belonged to him.
That was changing.
He found himself there more often now, not because Nolan asked him to be, but because there was work to do—and because, surprisingly, he wanted to do it. Coordinating with the guards, checking in with staff, fielding the endless questions that followed the twins’ return. It was overwhelming, sometimes irritating, and entirely new.
And yet.
He was good at it.
Isla noticed.
She lingered near the training yard while Lance spoke with one of the senior warriors, arms folded loosely, h
