Darius had a way of working that I found simultaneously impressive and mildly infuriating.
He did it everywhere. At his desk, obviously, where the territorial administration apparently generated paperwork at a rate that suggested it was sentient and breeding. But also at the kitchen island with a coffee cup and his phone, walking through the compound in conversations with Cole that looked casual and were absolutely not, even standing at the window watching the grounds with the focused distance of a man processing twelve things simultaneously.
He was always working.
Which meant he was always there.
Which meant I kept finding him in every room I walked into, or he kept finding me, and I was beginning to understand that this was not coincidence. His wolf simply knew where mine was at all
