Deucalion’s carriage reached Blackridge before sunset, but he did not ask for a welcome. He stepped down before the guards could open the door fully and walked straight through the gates.
The servants lowered their heads as he passed. Some had been crying for days, while others looked away because they did not know what to say to their Alpha. The air itself seemed heavier, as if the entire estate had been holding its breath since the news arrived.
His father waited in the great hall. The Blackridge Luna stood beside him, her eyes still swollen from grief.
“Deucalion,” she whispered.
He paused only long enough to ask the one question that mattered. “Where is Celine?”
“She is resting in her rooms,” his mother replied. “The healers say she needs time.”
He nodded once. He could not bring
