Alessandro did not sit when the elders entered.
He remained standing beside the long council table, hands braced lightly against the carved edge as though the stone itself might steady something beneath his ribs that had begun to move without permission.
Outside, the wind pressed faintly against the chamber glass.
Whooooo—
Closer.
Always closer.
The photograph still lay where Luca had placed it.
Ten years old.
Saint Marian's winter coat.
Eyes already learning not to trust safety.
Ugh.
Vittorio did not reach for it.
He did not need to.
"We have seen this before," he said quietly.
Alessandro's gaze lifted.
"Have we."
Matteo's mouth tightened.
"Not her."
A beat.
"But the consequence."
---
Memory came without invitation.
Not his.
Theirs.
A previous Alpha standing where Alessandro now stood.
Refusing counsel.
Refusing distance.
Refusing precedent.
Because instinct had insisted—
And affection had followed.
---
"She will not leave," the Alpha had said then.
