Daniel’s smile turned warmer. “Fair. But you’re different to it. Familiar, maybe. Like you… fit.”
I thought about the way the woods had responded to me lately—how the air sometimes felt thicker around my skin, how my dreams had started carrying the taste of pine and moonlight, how Gideon had said my bloodline had been sleeping for generations.
“Maybe I do,” I said quietly. “More than I realized.”
Daniel’s gaze met mine, something steady in it—understanding, and the kind of caution that came from knowing what it meant when the Evernight started paying attention.
“Maybe you do,” he agreed.
We walked in comfortable silence after that, the forest breathing around us with sounds that felt almost like conversation. Wind through branches that moved in patterns too deliberate to be random. A distant rush of water that kept shifting direction, like it didn’t want to be found.
After we crossed another stream, I said, “I’ve been meaning to ask.”
Daniel held back a branch for me to pass. “Uh oh.”
“Evan,” I said. “Do you really think he’s ready to lead? When the time comes.”
Daniel didn’t answer right away. He stepped over a root, careful with his footing, like he needed the movement to sort through the truth.
Then he glanced back at me, and there was no hesitation in his eyes. No performative Alpha certainty. Just something quiet and sure.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But when it matters? When it’s his turn?” His mouth tightened, then softened. “Yes.”
I kept my voice light, because the weight in his tone was heavy enough on its own. “That was the least dramatic answer you’ve ever given me.”
Daniel huffed. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m confirming you have emotional range.”
He shot me a look. “I have range.”
“Sure,” I said. “Grunt. Threaten. Protect. Repeat.”
Daniel’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Keep talking and I’ll leave you out here as an offering to the forest.”
“I thought the forest liked me.”
“It does,” he said, deadpan. “That’s why it would keep you.”
I snorted, then sobered. “So what makes you so sure about him?”
Daniel’s pace slowed a fraction. His gaze flicked to the trees, the ground, the air—checking the world like a man who never fully stopped guarding it.
“Because he doesn’t want the power,” he said quietly. “Not for the wrong reasons. He doesn’t crave it. He questions it. He worries he’ll hurt people.” Daniel’s voice roughened. “That kind of fear? That kind of care?” He glanced back at me. “That’s what keeps an Alpha from turning into a tyrant.”
“And you?” I asked softly.
Daniel’s breath came out like a laugh with no humor. “I learned the hard way.”
I didn’t push. Just walked beside him, matching his stride.
After a beat, he added, gentler, “Evan’s got a spine, Michael. And he’s got a heart. He’ll make mistakes—everyone does—but he listens. He changes. He’s not stuck in old ways just because they’re old.”
Pride warmed his voice when he said Evan’s name, but there was something else underneath it too.
Relief.
Like the idea of handing the weight off one day was the only thing that let him keep carrying it now.
