Cassian Rohr called at ten-thirty at night.
I was in Zevran's arms on the couch — not doing anything significant, just existing in the specific warmth of two people who had stopped needing a reason to be close — when my phone lit up with his name.
I answered on the second ring.
"Dr. Voss." His voice was wrong. The summit version of him had been smooth, measured, the practised warmth of a man who ran a pack and knew how to fill a room. This was what lived underneath that. Unguarded. Slightly desperate. "I found something in my pack's financial files tonight and I — I didn't know who to call."
Zevran had gone still beside me. Listening.
"Tell me what you found," I said.
He told me about Reva Sols. The financial advisor he had hired eight months ago with excellent references and a thoro
