Jace

I’m terrible with tears.

Always have been.

Give me blood, broken bones, snarling threats at the border—I’m solid. Calm. Useful. But the moment someone cries, especially someone I respect, my brain goes blank, and my wolf starts pacing like an idiot.

So when Keith walks toward me with Hope tucked against his side, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, my first thought is:

Shit. Someone died.

My second thought is worse.

Please don’t hug me.

I straighten anyway, hands folding behind my back out of habit. Beta posture. Commander posture. Anything but an emotional support posture.

“What do you need?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

Hope sniffs once, swiping...