Sad. Quietly, deeply sad. The kind of sadness that lingered in the corners of the mouth and in the slope of the shoulders. Grief that had turned into something permanent. A part of him.
And maybe once, his aura had been sharp and commanding. But now? It pulsed low, a steady thrum rather than a roar.
The Triplets were stronger.
It was obvious.
Even Killian had a more overwhelming presence.
But I kept that little observation to myself, because for once in my life, I didn’t feel like starting a war. And this man—this Alpha—had held his pack together in some way. That counted for something.
“Angelica,” Armand said with a nod, his voice deep but not cold. “Killian. Come in.”
His office was warm, wood-paneled, and smelled faintly of cloves and pine. A ceremonial dagger rested on the desk—
