Zion pursed his lips tightly as he glanced around the room, then leaned against the wall and stared out the window. For a brief moment, he looked worn down—defeated, even—but it passed in an instant. He straightened his back like a towering pine, radiating quiet dominance as a cold wave of bloodlust seeped from his body.
He wordlessly reached for the coffee Levi handed him and took a slow sip, eyes distant. Levi didn't speak. He knew that look all too well—his Alpha was drifting again, lost in thought.
Despite the sharpness in Zion's gaze, the tension in his jaw, Levi knew it wasn't anger aimed at anyone else. Zion was thinking about Addison again—about the years that had passed, the things left unsaid, and the weight of his own mistakes. He didn't need to ask Addison what went wrong. He knew. He had to.
