Connor sat across from Derek, studying his King.
Derek looked terrible. His eyes were red-rimmed, ringed with dark circles, the face of a man who had not slept in days and looked like he had been engaging in a staring contest with a furnace.
Connor had already heard the whole of it from Declan before being brought in, every awful piece of what had happened in that study.
And of course, they had drilled him first, a long string of questions to test his memory, to be certain he was truly Connor and not some Umbra wearing his face, before they would let him anywhere near the King's quarters.
"She's a white Lycan," Derek said, his gaze fixed down on the stacks of documents littering his desk.
"I know," Connor said.
Derek exhaled slowly and fell silent. The quiet stretched on, heavy and uncomfortable.
