CORALINA'S POV The morning air in the Alpha’s study is cool and smells of old leather, parchment, and the lingering, sharp scent of Clyde’s sandalwood. I haven't slept more than four hours, my mind still buzzing with the lines of code I laid into the Aegis-Locate honeypot, but I cannot remain in that bed once the sun is up. The mattress is slightly sunken in the place where Maximus has left vacant, and the white sheets seem to be asking a question I’m not ready to answer yet. Instead, I have retreated to the study, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of the Archives. My fingers trace the spines of heavy, cloth-bound ledgers. If I am to be the Luna of this pack, even if it is a role only in name, I need to understand the bedrock I’m standing on. “The histories of the Far South are not easily digested on an empty stomach, Luna.” I jump, nearly dropping a thick volume on the Treaties of the Frost Era. Mr. Henderson, the head butler, stands in the doorway. Unlike Thomas, who is a
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