Noah's POV
Oliver's chubby little hand is in mine, tugging at my fingers, and I'm pretending to pay attention while Ma explains the importance of responding to complaint reports.
"…and you can't ignore them," she says, shuffling through a stack of papers at her desk. Her office smells faintly of ink and coffee. "Even something as small as a blocked drain in the settlement housing can turn into resentment if it's not promptly addressed. Omegas especially need to feel heard."
Oliver babbles happily on the carpet, smacking two toy cars together. I smile faintly at his enthusiasm, but my thoughts are elsewhere. My gaze keeps sliding toward the window, toward the gray drizzle tapping against the glass.
I'm not hearing Ma, not really. All I can think about is Logan.
Or, more accurately, his absence.
It's all I can think of lately. The distinct and obvious lack of him that makes the Big House so much more grey and dull than it should be.
I know it's not his fault. Goddess, I know.
