The private dock on Isla was unusually lively that morning.
The breeze carried a quiet tension—one that didn't quite match the calm rhythm of the waves of the lake.
Waiting at the entrance were the Norse brothers.
All of them, Liam, Logan and Lucas.
Including Leonard Norse.
It was not a small welcome—it was excessive, deliberate… almost ceremonial.
When Lara stepped out of the boat with Randell Belmont at her side, accompanied by a servant assigned to attend to the old man during his stay, the weight of their reception became impossible to ignore.
Ares had finally relented.
After days of stubborn resistance, he had stopped arguing with his grandfather and allowed him to remain on Isla—no more exhausting back-and-forth travel.
For once, the old man had won. The grandchild admitted admitted defeat.
Randell took in the scene, his sharp eyes sweeping over the gathered men. Then he chuckled, the sound light but edged with curiosity.
