Jeremy’s POV
I stand in Reed’s study with my hands braced on the edge of the table, the grain biting into my palms, while the room hums with restrained violence. The house is quiet in that way. The way pack spaces are when something has gone wrong. No wasted movement, no idle noise, high tension as our brains dissect.
My fault.
The attack wasn’t meant for my mother. It was meant for me. At first, I had been under the impression it had been a robbery, and I had told the deputy I would search for what was missing and let them know. Until Claire told me she had gone to them.
When she walked into the sheriff’s office and asked the wrong question of the wrong man. She didn’t do anything wrong, but the world we live in doesn’t care about intent. It cares about exposure, and they had exposed
