LOGINPOV: LachlanThey moved to the open grass, and within four minutes Lachlan discovered that "properly" in Declan's vocabulary meant far more than he had anticipated.The boy knew what he was talking about. He had opinions about positioning, ball control, and the precise angle of approach, all of which suggested Cooper had been a thorough and patient instructor over an extended period.He demonstrated with his feet and expected Lachlan to match him. When Lachlan's first attempt was technically correct but slightly wide, Declan said, "Not quite," with the confidence of a five-year-old who had decided he was the authority and was not open to debate. Lachlan tried again."Better," Declan said. High praise, apparently.Imogen had retreated to a bench with Cooper and watched with an expression that revealed several conflicting emotions she had no intention of processing publicly. Cooper said something to her quietly. She shook her head.Whatever he had suggested, she was not accepting it.Ha
POV: LachlanHe arrived at the park at nine-thirty for a ten o'clock meeting.He had not been thirty minutes early to anything in seven years of running a pack. Punctuality was a tool he used with precision, arriving exactly when he intended, communicating both respect for the occasion and control of the terms. Thirty minutes early communicated a different truth: he had been sitting in his hotel room since eight and had run out of productive ways to occupy his hands.The family park sat inside Silvercrest's residential territory, a generous stretch of coastal green with established trees, a playground at its center, and enough open space for two adults to sit apart while remaining in the same location. Neutral ground, as requested. Public enough to keep the children safe. Private enough that nobody was likely to record them on a phone.Rhys had driven him. He was now sitting on a bench forty meters away, reading his phone with the focused attention of a man who had decided that whatev
POV: ImogenThe room settled into the tension of a negotiation where both sides had stated their positions and neither intended to yield without resistance.Charlotte spoke next, which was her purpose. She was precise and unhurried, laying out Silvercrest's legal position on residency, primary care, and the council's documented stance on uprooting settled children from established environments.She cited three precedents without looking up from her notes, which was either confidence or a performance of it. In Charlotte's case, Imogen suspected it was simply confidence.Lachlan listened with his hands flat on the table, his face giving nothing away. When Charlotte finished, he looked at Darcy."I'm not disputing Ms. Hartley's care of the children. I'm disputing the unilateral decision to remove me from their lives entirely.""You removed yourself," Cooper said. The room temperature dropped approximately three degrees.Cooper Ashford did not speak carelessly. He had said four words and
POV: ImogenSilvercrest's pack house mediation room had been designed to feel neutral.Long table. Eight chairs. Natural light through high windows overlooking the coastal garden rather than the street, removing the visual noise of the outside world without making the space feel enclosed. A water jug in the center that nobody was going to touch. The kind of room that said this is a serious conversation, and we intend to have it properly.Imogen arrived twelve minutes early.She came with Cooper on her left and Charlotte Reid on her right. Charlotte was Silvercrest's legal advisor, forty-four years old, compact and precise, with close-cropped silver hair and the unhurried confidence that came from two decades of winning arguments in rooms exactly like this one.She had reviewed everything Imogen had given her the previous evening and arrived that morning with a folder, a specific expression, and the unmistakable air of having already identified the opposing position's weaknesses and wa
POV: LachlanHe tried to sleep.He lay on his back on a hotel bed that cost more per night than most people's weekly grocery budget, staring at the ceiling while his wolf patiently insisted that the ceiling was not where they needed to be.At one in the morning, he gave up. He sat at the desk, pulled up every piece of werewolf custody legislation available through Nightshade's legal database, and read for forty minutes. The picture it painted was not comfortable, not because his position was weak... it wasn't... but because the gap between what he could legally claim and what he had morally earned was wide enough to live in.Under council statute, an Alpha's biological children were considered pack heirs regardless of the circumstances of their birth or the length of the Alpha's absence. Imogen's decision to conceal their existence constituted heir concealment, which the statute treated as a serious offense. He could file. He could secure significant custody access through formal chan
POV: LachlanThe hotel suite was standard accommodation Nightshade's travel coordinator booked automatically for Lachlan, regardless of the trip's duration. Large. Quiet. A view of the Sydney coastline that might have been worth appreciating if he had looked at it once since arriving.He had not. He sat on the edge of the bed at midnight, jacket off, phone in hand, while his wolf did what it had been doing for the past three hours: pace.Not physically. Inside him, continuous and restless, throwing itself against his control because it had identified exactly where it wanted to be and found the circumstances blocking it.Rhys was in the adjoining room. Lachlan had heard him stop moving around an hour ago, which meant he was either asleep or performing sleep with considerable commitment. Hamish had retired earlier and had not emerged, possibly because he had correctly assessed that his Alpha's current state did not invite company.Lachlan's phone buzzed. Kieran. Video call.He answered







