I went down to Roan's cell one last time as the holding war closed, and I found the coldest man in the territory doing something I'd never seen him do.
He was teaching.
A pair of the true line's young wolves new to the watch, barely more than pups sat outside his bars, and Roan was talking to them, low and patient, about how to read a room. How to see who's lying without accusing. How to notice the wolf everyone overlooks, because the wolf everyone overlooks is the one who matters. He was spending the one thing he had, the twenty years of watching that had hollowed him out, and he was spending it on teaching young wolves to protect a pack instead of betray one.
He stopped when he saw me. The young wolves scattered, respectful, and Roan watched them go with an expression I couldn't name.
