Mitch wrote it down without looking up.
I watched all of this happen. I watched the table — the crew, the new arrivals, the problem arranged between them — and I thought about the kitchen in the Vrel house, the round table that was one person's regardless of who sat at it. I thought about how rooms chose their purpose eventually, no matter what they were designed for.
This one had chosen to be the place where hard things got handled.
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The meeting had been running long enough that Bekah had refilled the coffee twice when I heard the front door of the diner open.
I heard it because my wolf registered it before my ears did — the specific way she'd started reading spaces, exits, the weight and intention of arrivals. I'd been getting better at the information she offered rather than sta
