Vincent’s POV
The palace had been too quiet since the training-rail accident—until Mother swept into my study, scattering stillness like dust.
“These walls feel like they’re meant for ghosts,” she said, sitting down without waiting for permission. “And I’m not a ghost. Take me outside before I turn into one.”
I set the ledger aside. “Mother…”
“Don’t ‘Mother’ me.” Her look could c***k stone. “I’ve spent half my life beyond pack walls. I won’t start rotting inside them. A walk. Fresh air. And Myra—she’s been shelved like porcelain. The girl needs sand on her shoes.”
Myra looked up from her carved wolves, eyes lighting. “Outside?”
“Of course, little star.”
Refusing twice would only give Mother new ammunition. “Fine,” I said. “South Park. With guards.”
“Good boy,” she said, rising. “Tr
