Noah finished reading the article on the screen of the tablet, the words "not a true Sinclair" burned into his mind.
He had been quietly unraveling for days, keeping the doubt locked inside. Every time he stood before a mirror, he searched for a resemblance that wasn't there.
His features felt foreign, his bone structure out of sync with the man he called father.
"Mom always says my eyes are like her wolf's," Noah murmured to his reflection, his voice barely audible. "But I wanted them to be like Dad's just like Elara has."
He set the hand mirror face down on the bedside table, unable to look at himself any longer. The house was quiet, but his mind was too loud for sleep. He slipped out of his room and moved down the darkened corridor.
As he reached the landing overlooking the main hall, he saw that the night was far from over for the adults. His father and uncles were still gathered below, the low clink of ice against glass echoing in the vast space.
