RACHELE POV
Back in our apartment, Rebecca made another herbal tea.
A piss-poor attempt to calm our wolves — Alma and Sofia — who were pacing and growling like we’d locked them in a cage.
Spoiler: it didn’t work.
At least not for me.
I spent the whole night tossing and turning, tangled in sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and frustration.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him — Riggs — his tired face, his calloused hands, that faint shadow of guilt he wore like a second skin.
And my brain wouldn’t stop asking questions.
Where did he live?
Did he have a bed?
A roof?
Something — anything — to keep him warm through the night?
Did he even have food?
Then the rational part of me kicked in — the one that sounded suspiciously like Rebecca.
*He’s been a rogue for years,* I tol
