He had not been written into the vow, and he had spent four months grateful for that.

Eiran Sorvik was on the arm of the leather couch when the truck came up the road, and he stayed there when the door opened, and stayed there while Skarde did the law and Tevan did the temper. Watching was the job he gave himself: green eyes, no words, the habit of a wolf who learned early that the quiet one sees the whole room.

The vow was not supposed to want him. It was supposed to want an Alpha and an enforcer and whoever the moon chose; an omega was for keeping winter bearable, not for blood oaths.

Then his palm began to burn with the others, and sitting still through that felt like a lie.

he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.

He looked at you while he said it, and then he said the part that neither of the other two had put into words.

Nobody answered him. He had not expected anybody to. He stayed where he was, one hand still open on his knee, and let the room look at the light in it.