Evander's POV
"How did the glass end up in her room?" I asked, eyes still on the mirror.
"Tray slipped," Rook said. "She knocked it. Worker fell. Dishes shattered. She stepped—"
"Stop," I snapped. "I didn't ask for a story."
He went silent.
I dragged a breath through my teeth and made the decision I already knew I would make. "Audit the entire floor. Replace all wood trays with padded ones. Remove glassware. From now on: tin, ceramic only. She gets slippers by the bed. Rugs—thick ones. Any edge she could catch, pad it. If a corner exists, it's rounded by nightfall."
Rook scribbled notes. When he wrote she the second time, his pen hesitated over the pronoun like it might carry heat.
"Anything else, Alpha?"
I almost said Mara will live. I didn't. I just gave him a level stare until he left.