Page 16 of Noah

Even now, I could still remember the look on his face that night at the Thornebane summit—when Adrian, Jackson, and I had been dragged back after the incident.

The cold disappointment in his eyes had sent a chill straight through me, one that hadn’t entirely left after all these years.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that,” Cooper added, pulling me from my thoughts.

I caught the faint twitch of his hand—a rare nervous gesture from someone usually so composed.

“I won’t,” I assured him, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

We reached the front of the pack house just as a car pulled up. It was an older-model SUV, a Chevy Suburban—matte black and built like a tank. Exactly the kind of vehicle you’d expect someone like Robert Parker to drive.

The engine cut off, and the doors opened.

Even before I saw his face, I already knew it was him. The way he moved, the confidence in his stride—it was unmistakably Jackson stepping out of the passenger seat.

Everything I thought I’d buried came rushing back. His laugh—low and warm, with a way of chasing away shadows like it was second nature. The way he’d tilt his head when he looked at me, like he was trying to piece together a secret only I knew.

And then there he was.

The sunlight caught his eyes—pale blue with flecks that I knew would glint like silver in just the right light. His smile hadn’t changed—easy, genuine, like he wasn’t standing on the edge of more than ten years of silence.

“Noah,” he said, his voice soft yet firm.

My breath caught. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t tell if I’d said anything. His name, maybe. Or nothing at all.

All I knew was that my feet were moving, pulling me toward him, and every carefully rehearsed responsibility slipped further from my mind with each step.

Cooper’s hand extended as Robert Parker approached, breaking the moment. “Alpha Parker,” Cooper greeted, his tone formal and steady.

“Please, call me Robert,” came the older man’s gruff yet polite reply.

Reality hit me like a splash of cold water. My steps faltered, and I stopped short.

The warnings about this summit—the weight of its importance—all came flooding back. I took a small step back, slipping behindCooper as if that slight distance could shield me from Jackson’s piercing gaze.

The moment stretched in awkward silence before I remembered myself. Straightening, I subtly gestured toward Hudson, who had finally caught up with the group.

“This is Hud—” I began, ready to introduce him as the next in line to lead the Silvercrest Pack.

But Cooper’s focus had already shifted. His hand extended—but not toward Hudson.

“Jackson. It’s an honor to have you here,” Cooper said, his tone warm and welcoming.

I froze mid-gesture, my hand still outstretched toward Hudson.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost tangible. Cooper didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did, judging by the quick glance he shot me before turning back to Jackson.

If he felt any embarrassment, he covered it well, smoothly turning to Hudson next and shaking his hand as if nothing had happened.

I tried to salvage the situation, stepping forward with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about?—”

Robert’s booming laughter cut me off. The sound was loud enough to draw glances from the others nearby.

Clapping Cooper firmly on the shoulder, he grinned. “You’ve got a good eye! Come, walk with me.”

Cooper, ever the diplomat, returned the smile politely and nodded. “Of course.”

Without a second glance, he followed Robert, leaving me standing there with a metaphorical bomb in my hands.

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