The compound's nighttime rhythm had changed with Rowan.
Not dramatically — there was still the specific hour when the pack bond settled into its resting register, still the compound's collective quiet, still the river going outside the window. But nested inside that rhythm was the new one. The small person's hours. The particular architecture of a night organized around someone who had not yet learned that nights were for sleeping continuously.
Rowan was working on this.
They had opinions about it.
The opinions were expressed at full volume at two-hour intervals and were non-negotiable.
Darius had taken the first interval. He was at the river window now with Rowan against his shoulder, the specific hold they had developed — Rowan's preference was the upright position, their head on hi
