The moment Victor's face shifted from relieved that she was awake to something heavier, Felicity knew the news would not be good. She pushed up on her elbows too fast, and the room tilted sideways, her body still raw and hollowed out from labour.
"Where is my wolf son?" Nobody answered right away. That was the first sign the world had gone wrong. Six of them stood crowded in the doorway like a wall of muscle and feathers and fur, and not one of them would meet her eyes properly.
Victor's jaw worked. Voss had his arms crossed so tight his knuckles had gone pale. Exile's tail coiled and uncoiled against the floorboards, a slow, anxious metronome. "He's fine," Victor said, too fast. "
He's safe. But. "But what?" Her ears, still tender and heavy atop her head, flattened back hard enough to hurt. "Victor. Where is my son?" Ivan stepped forward, mist curling faintly off his shoulders as though he could not help it, as though his power leaked out whenever he was rattled.
