Gavriel Sterling walked into his Alpha's study the way a man walks into a courtroom when he already knows the verdict.
Dex was standing by the hearth, two glasses on the table beside him, a bottle of whiskey already open. The fire was low. The room was quiet in the specific way rooms became when the man inside them had been thinking for too long and had arrived at conclusions he could no longer avoid.
"Sit," Dex said.
Gav sat.
Dex poured both drinks. Slid one across the table without ceremony, the same way his father did, because some gestures were inherited whether you wanted them or not. He lowered himself into the opposite chair, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The fire filled the silence with the only sound it knew how to make, which was the sound of something burning.
