A quiet tension filled the night air as Alaric and Luke locked eyes. The fifteen-year-old boy stood his ground, his sharp gaze unwavering despite the obvious difference in power between them. The intensity in Luke's expression was enough to intrigue Alaric, who found himself amused by the boy's defiant stance.
It was clear Luke had no idea who he was.
The corner of Alaric's lips twitched, but he remained silent, simply observing the young unsifted wolf who had positioned himself between Astrid and him.
Luke's voice was firm as he asked once more, "Who are you?"
His demand was met with a brief silence before Alaric finally spoke, his voice smooth and unbothered. "Alaric."
Luke's brows furrowed at the name, his expression complicated. He said nothing, but the gears in his head were visibly turning. "Why are you here?"
Astrid, still holding little Zeke and Seth, quickly reached for Luke's arm. "Luke, don't be rude," she scolded gently, hoping to ease the tension.
