Jace

An hour later, the interrogation room smells like steel and tension.

Alpha Clinton sits across from the part-Lycan prisoner, elbows on the metal table, expression carved from stone. Keith watches from the corner, arms folded, Stevie on his left. I stand beside the door like a silent storm cloud, and I take my assigned place at the wall behind the prisoner—close enough that he feels me, far enough that he doesn’t think I’m looming.

The prisoner won’t look at Clinton. He stares straight ahead, jaw hard.

“Let’s start with something easy,” Clinton says, voice deceptively calm. “Why were you three watching the Nightshade pack?”

Silence.

Clinton tries again. “You...