Day of Winthorp
Catherine sat cross-legged on the bed, absently tapping her heel against the mattress.
Arcturus lay sprawled on the plush rug beside her, belly up, entirely uninterested in his actual owner. For reasons Catherine found both amusing and deserved, the dog now preferred her over Maximilian.
Well. She did know the reason.
She'd been sneaking him meat.
A noble wolf-hunter lineage reduced to vegan slop was a tragedy she refused to tolerate. And clearly, Arcturus agreed—his loyalty had officially changed hands.
As for the former owner… she hadn't spoken to him all day.
The distance still hadn't shrunk.
Thirty meters. Steady. Unyielding.
If this continued, she decided she'd simply buy the neighboring brownstone and move out. Privacy mattered. Dignity mattered. And this makeshift bedroom carved out of his living room was neither.
Her gaze drifted to the locked door across the space.
