ROWAN
She knocks on the frame of an open door.
She always does that. The door to my study stands open in the mornings, a habit I inherited from my father without ever deciding to, the open door that tells the pack its Alpha is reachable, and every person in this house walks straight through it except her. Amaris knocks on open doors. I have never told her how much I like that about her, which this morning strikes me as one entry on a long list of things I have never told her.
"Come in."
She comes in. And then she closes the door behind her, and the latch clicks, and I put the weekly report down before she has taken another step, because Amaris closing a door is a sentence all by itself.
