RIGGS POV
The sun wasn’t up yet.
Cold air bit at my skin, the kind that tasted like iron and pine and made every breath burn a little. Hamed, Vincente, and I stood in front of the Winter Pack gates, waiting for whatever passed as an interrogation in this place.
The gates loomed high, silver-gray with frost, guarded by two blond men with turquoise eyes that could cut through bone. They had the same eyes as my mates. The same scent too — sharp, wild, and powerful.
They didn’t need to say it. I already knew who they were.
Family.
“Who’s Riggs?” one of them asked. His voice was deep, steady — the kind of tone that didn’t need volume to demand obedience.
I raised my chin. “I am.”
And said nothing else. Rogues learn early: let the enemy talk first. The more they talk, the more they revea
