"I'm coming. NOW!"
Dean made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke. "Sylvia, you don't even know where I am."
"I don't need to know," Sylvia snapped. "I have spite, a favor pass from your fiancée, and a credit card. Tell Boreas I'm his aunt."
"You're not…"
"You're emotionally his aunt," she cut in. "Also, you're avoiding the prince topic again. Suspicious."
Dean rolled his eyes, but the motion died halfway because Boreas had gone still in a way that made the leash feel suddenly real in his hand.
Boreas's ears angled forward. His weight shifted, and he planted his paws as if he had decided the ground was his. His tail didn't wag. His head lifted, and his gaze fixed down the path that cut between buried hedges and lamp-lit snow.
Dean's pulse ticked up, reflexive.
"What…" he started, then stopped himself because he didn't want to sound like prey on a phone call. "Hold on."
"Dean?" Sylvia's voice sharpened immediately. "What is that tone?"
