Nate's POV
The 'sir' cut deeper than any silver blade ever had. He didn't know me. To him, I wasn't the Alpha who had leveled a mountain to save him. I wasn't the father who had held him through the rot. I was just a wanderer in a dusty coat standing at the end of his driveway.
"I... I'm looking for Dahlia," I said, my voice sounding rusty from disuse.
Aidan's eyes narrowed, a flash of that old Silver-Crest suspicion flickering for a brief second. "Who's asking?"
Before I could answer, the door creaked open. Dahlia stepped out, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. She looked beautiful. She looked peaceful.
She looked at me, and the world seemed to stop spinning.
The towel slipped from her hand. Her face went pale, then flushed a deep, angry red. She didn't run to me or scream. She just gripped the porch railing until her knuckles went white.
"Nathaniel," she whispered.
"Dahlia."
