Darien's focus sharpens as footsteps echo from the dining room again. This time, it's two sets, synchronized, cocky, and unmistakable. The twins emerge with their mother, Rayne, trailing between them like a diplomat escorting her own chaos. Morgan's grin is already halfway to mischief. Grayson's, cooler, edged with entertainment. Rayne looks like she's trying very hard not to throttle both.
Darien straightens. "Halt. I need to speak with you."
Morgan freezes mid-step, his expression instantly dramatic. "Oh, he needs to speak with us. Sounds ominous."
Grayson lifts a brow. "Can we skip the mystery and go straight to the yelling?"
"Neither," Darien says. "You'll know after I've spoken to you. Rayne, could you…"
Rayne's gaze slides from the eldest to her younger sons, faintly exasperated. "Should I assume this is about pack matters or family idiocy?"
"Bit of both," Morgan offers helpfully.
