Noah sat motionless in the passenger seat, his massive frame pressed into the leather. The car's low hum vibrated beneath his feet, echoing the beat in his chest.
Outside, the world erupted in flashing cameras and shouting reporters, the crowd's hunger for scandal palpable in the air. To Noah, it was nothing but noise. His gaze cut through the Quinns, their sorrow posed and polished for the cameras.
Unlike the dark amusement that might have colored another observer's assessment, Noah found nothing remotely entertaining in the spectacle.
This was an insult dressed up as politics, disguised as nothing more than performance. Every sob from Mrs. Quinn and every careful move from Mr. Quinn landed with purpose.
But it was Silas who drew his attention like a magnet draws iron. Standing at the back, beautiful and ethereal even in his performance of sorrow. This was the omega who had once tempted Noah's mind down dangerous paths.
