Tristan had not set foot in the city for almost three years.
He had not decided right away if he would go, but he was surprised to see Lord Shannon back at the cottage the very next day. Shannon didn't point out the obvious—he didn't have to.
Tristan hurriedly opened his dresser and found his wardrobe lacking. He settled for a light-colored shirt, a pair of trousers, and boots that were comfortable but decent enough.
He only hoped he would not look underdressed beside Shannon, his elegant guide through the city.
He tried to recall places he once knew: bakeries, a bookshop, the small park with the fountain.
But three years was a long time, and memory was not to be trusted. Shannon had promised to take him to "remarkable but safe" locations, and Tristan decided he would lean on that judgment.
It was still early when they reached the general district. The streets were not yet crowded, the bustle just beginning to build. The plan was simple: walk, talk, and eat.
Buy? As promised, Tristan received a gold coin earmarked for anything he wanted to buy. He rolled it once between his fingers before handing it back. "Keep it. I'll pass on the shopping." He paused and sheepishly said, "But you're still paying for our meals."
Tristan winked.
"You can drop the title when you talk to me," Shannon said. "Just call me Shannon."
Tristan blinked at him. "I… alright… Shan… Shan…" He faltered, stumbled over the syllable, and finally blurted, "Shan…non."
The name sounded strange without the weight of a title, as though it had been pared down too small.
Shannon's mouth twitched. "That was painful to watch."
"It felt out of place," Tristan muttered. "Like trying to write with the wrong hand."
"You'll manage. I'm not here to pull rank on you," Shannon replied.
"I'll keep that in mind, Lo… Shannon."
They found a small cafe tucked between two thrift shops.
The tables were set close enough for conversation but far enough for privacy.
The servers brought them freshly baked bread, thick savory stew, and strong black tea that cut through the chill of the day.
They began with safe topics. Shannon told him that Eira had been reinforcing the storerooms at the safehouse, while Marla had sent word about the coming harvest from the cottage gardens.
There were trade agreements in progress too, some involving supplies from trusted merchants.
The conversation shifted naturally toward the Alpha pack.
Tristan leaned forward, curiosity written across his face. "What makes your pack different from the others?"
Shannon stirred his tea. "Discipline. We're not the largest pack, but our strength comes from both bloodline and training. We keep our transformations controlled."
"So you can change into a wolf whenever you want?" Tristan asked.
"Most of the time it's voluntary. Pain or fear can trigger it if someone's untrained, but that isn't an issue for my pack. For us, it's a choice. Controlled."
Tristan nodded thoughtfully. "Good to know in case I ever see a wolf strolling into the kitchen."
"You'll know it's me if it raids the bread cupboard instead of the meat pantry," Shannon replied without hesitation.
They both laughed, the tension loosening.
The laughter faded when Tristan asked, "Have you heard anything… good or bad about my family lately? Is it the steward or Terry who's been keeping an eye on the cottage?"
Shannon's face grew measured. "Two pairs of footprints on the last perimeter check. One likely the steward. The other… I'd guess Terry or Troy."
Tristan sat back, lips tight. "So they really have been watching."
Shannon took a sip of tea before continuing. "Terry's not in great shape to do much himself. He was mugged a few weeks ago—gambling debts. He's home now, recovering."
"And Troy?"
"Troy has been trying to sell the manor. Without your grandfather's consent. He's already sent word to potential buyers."
Tristan's jaw tightened. "He wouldn't dare…"
"He would," Shannon said simply. "There was also a visitor recently. A former maid. She threatened to cause a scene if Troy didn't let her in. Tara came out, recognized her, and allowed her inside."
"What did she want?"
"Money. She's holding something over him. Apparently she has been paid before but returned for more. She claims to know something, though she refuses to say until she's paid again."
Tristan frowned. "What secret could that possibly be?"
"One secret or one lie after another," Shannon said quietly. "From what I hear, Troy regrets making you the scapegoat.
Terry has become more of a liability than an asset. But Troy won't undo it. The truth would damage him just as much as it might free you."
Tristan's fingers curled around his cup. "What about Grandfather? Does he know?"
"Troy's keeping it from him," Shannon said. Then, with a trace of satisfaction, "But your grandfather found out about Troy's attempt to sell. He refused to give him financial help.
Now he is acting to protect the estate. He has already asked his most trusted servant to find a solicitor—quietly.
He wants to update his will and ensure the manor and principal properties cannot be sold without his approval or proper succession."
"So he is moving before Troy can," Tristan said softly.
"He is. And he may also force Troy to sell his own holdings for money, since he refused to give him any."
Tristan studied him. "How do you know all this?"
Shannon's lips curved faintly. "I have eyes and ears everywhere. The pack tries to stay ahead, in case alliances are needed."
"And Grandfather's wealth? Do you know where it is?"
"My guess is that most of it lies in land titles. Some in gold coins, bonds, and family heirlooms. It's not kept in one place. Your grandfather is careful."
Tristan gave a short, humorless laugh. "Careful enough to hold on to everything until the end."
"Don't let it consume you," Shannon said gently.
Their eyes met. Something unspoken lingered between them before Tristan looked away. "I'm trying."
The rest of lunch passed in lighter conversation. Shannon pointed out changes in the streets—the painted shutters, new market stalls, the baker who had expanded into the next shop.
Tristan, still awkward, failed twice more in trying to address him without a title. Shannon only shook his head, amused.
By the time they left the cafe, Tristan felt a little steadier. The city was still strange, still heavy with old memories, but walking its streets beside Shannon made it feel almost possible again.
Dinner, he thought, would be the time for a more serious talk.