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Dutch: I told him you have no downtime, and he smiled like that was actually useful information. What does that mean??

I drop my phone into my bag where I’m pretty sure Echo drips bacon grease onto it. Fine by me. Maybe the thing will stop working, and I won’t have to answer Dutch’s interrogation.

Outside, the morning air is crisp, and the sun is tucked behind the skyscrapers at my back. Shadows make it even chillier, but I don’t mind it. My wolf loves the cold. Echo, apparently, feels the same as he continues munching happily on his breakfast from his little koala pouch.

My phone buzzes again as I climb into my car. I check it, knowing I am going to regret it but unable to help myself.

Dutch: the suit guy just asked me for your number. What is HAPPENING!

I silence my notifications and start the engine.

5

NASH

The conference room on the first floor of the Giovanni estate is already half-full when Marcus and I arrive for the morning meeting. The long table is covered in various maps—with even more hanging on the far wall—tactical overlays, and what look like scouting reports. There are also three open laptops, a plate of pastries, and a pair of boots propped on the end that attach to a male with cropped brown hair and a sharp gaze that suggests he’d rather fight than negotiate anything. He slouches in a chair, leaning backward at a dangerous angle. When he sees me, his gaze sharpens for an instant before he goes back to scrolling his phone.

Nearby, Grey stands chatting with another male whose picture I’ve seen in our own recon reports. His name is Donahue, according to our scouts. New to the pack but already a team leader. Not that I’ve mentioned that bit of research to Grey.

I take my seat beside Marcus, who has already assessed every exit, cataloged every face, and arranged himself in the precise posture of a man who is paying attention to everything and revealing nothing. He’s been my second for six years. I’ve never once had to tell him what to do in a room like this.

Across the table, Dutch—Grey’s second whose shirt reads I Void Warranties—leans forward in his chair with his elbows propped on his knees and the unassuming energy of someone who is far sharper than he looks. He’s texting furiously while casting glances at me. Likely telling Mia everything we talked about earlier, a side effect I anticipated and find amusement in.

A nudge from Marcus interrupts my quiet spying. I look down to see a text on his phone. It’s from Lovaro, one of our board members at the war college. I scan it, noting the passive-aggressive—and also aggressive—language that says in no uncertain terms to get my ass back to campus immediately.

I glance up at Marcus, whose brow is already lifted in question.

I shake my head, and he goes to work, typing a reply that’s undoubtedly ten times more diplomatic than mine would have been. The war college has survived worse than my absence. Indigo Hills might not.

I go back to watching the room.

Donahue breaks away from Grey and sits down beside a female my reports say is named Camila. Their chairs are angled slightly toward each other in the unconscious way of mated wolves—aware of each other even when they’re not looking. Andy, Lexi’s second, has a tablet and a posture that says she has already read everyone in this room and formed opinions about all of them.

Grey sits down at the head of the table. Lexi to his right.

And Mia⁠—

Walks in two minutes late, carrying a bag of what smells like breakfast. She sets it down in front of Razor, who leaps toward it like it’s the meal of a starving man.

“Crow says you better give him credit, or these are the last ones you’ll ever get,” she warns him.

Razor’s eyes widen. “He wouldn’t.”

“You know he would,” she says, and he pouts but digs into the bag and pulls out something delicious-smelling wrapped in greasy paper. Dutch snatches the bag before Razor can take another and helps himself.

I watch as Mia offers greetings to everyone in the room. Everyone but me. In fact, she hasn’t looked at me once since she walked in, which is far more telling than if she’d stared. Mia Reyes is someone who accounts for everything in a room. The fact that she’s accounting for me by deliberate omission means she’s been thinking about me.

My wolf finds this enormously encouraging.

“Mia, you want to update us?” Grey prompts when everyone’s settled.

She taps the map with two fingers. “Our perimeter sweep picked up movement on the northern ridge last night.”

“That’s pretty close to the city limits,” Dutch says around a mouthful of breakfast sandwich.

Mia nods. “From what we can tell, it was low numbers, single file, deliberately avoiding the ward markers that still stand in that area.” She looks at Grey and states the obvious conclusion, “They know where the boundary lines are.”

“Which means they’ve been watching,” Grey says with a frown.