Logan's POV
I didn't sleep a wink.
Between lowering my father's body onto a pyre and listening to my entire pack sing dirge after dirge, what keeps me awake is the feeling that Noah is keeping something big from me.
My arms still ache from carrying the bier down the old path, but the ache is nothing compared to the weight sitting on my chest.
I can barely remember the walk home. Everything's a blur of footsteps and shadows. Above that is Noah's scent, lingering in my nostrils, warm and steady and grounding—like it always is. Or… like it used to be.
Because this morning, something's off.
I am exhausted and the words burn behind my eyelids like phosphorescence.
'Turns out I have other engagements that day. Here's the new date, time, and venue. Will you be there?'
We're all grieving. The entire house moves like it's underwater, thick with mourning and exhaustion, but I keep noticing the things Noah's not doing.
Like how he won't meet my eyes.
