(Julian’s POV) The warehouse was flooded with the amber, hazy glow of a London evening that felt entirely too peaceful for a man like me. I remained motionless on the floor of the "fort," my back against a cold server crate, but the rest of me was warmer than I had been in five years. Maya was a small, radiating furnace tucked into the crook of my left arm. Her breathing was a soft, rhythmic huff against my bicep, her gold curls occasionally tickling my chin. To my right, Elara’s head was a heavy, comforting weight on my shoulder. Her scent—now completely free of the chemical dampeners—was blooming in the stillness. It was lilies, rain-slicked pavement, and a sharp, metallic edge of adrenaline that was finally starting to fade. I didn't move. I barely dared to breathe. Internal thoughts: If I shift even a fraction, the spell breaks. The King comes back. The Board comes back. The rejection comes back. Right now, in this dim, dusty corner of the East End, I’m not the Alpha of the Bl
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