Third Person POV
Isla chose her moment carefully.
Lance was finishing a patrol report when she found him on the western terrace of the Silver Fang packhouse, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the stone. He looked tired—everyone did—but there was a steadiness to him that made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t quite learned how to manage yet.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
Something in her voice made him turn fully toward her at once. He was learning to read her tone better, to recognize when there was that slight strain, the tension in her voice that meant something was off. He could hear it now and it put him on edge.
“Of course,” he said. “What’s going on?”
She took a breath, then another, bracing herself. “My parents contacted me again.”
Lance’s
