After everything that happened, after all the close calls and too-late realizations, I'd finally sat down with my dad to talk about the full urgency of the situation—the rogues, Rebecca, the mole, what Raff's death means, all of it. I'd expected at least resistance from my dad. Maybe a "we'll review it later when I'm less tired," or "you're too close to this emotionally, so let me handle it from here," or something to that tune.
But what I didn't expect?
It was for him to slide the executive order across the desk with a serious nod and say, "This was Conan's idea. I trust his judgment fully."
And I took it, stunned. A little jealous, but stunned.
And now, sitting in what used to be a storage room across from my father's office, soon to be our shared council workspace, I just kept re-reading the damn thing.
"I hereby appoint Levi Dunham, Conan Moss, and Charles Genova official members of the Elder Council of the Dunham Pack."
It was so... fucking easy it almost made me mad.
