Questions burned behind his teeth, but he swallowed them back, sensing that Clyde wasn't finished.
"Even if Vincent checks every box," the Alpha went on, slower now, as though weighing every word, "I can't destabilize the new order by naming him commander. Not yet. He needs to earn that seat—before the council decides whether he deserves it."
Ryley forced a smile—thin, brittle, almost painful. "You're right…"
He barely got the words out before Clyde's voice cut in, sharp and unexpected.
"I thought you'd at least try to make me cancel it."
The smile faltered. A twitch pulled at the corners of Ryley's mouth. "Wh–what do you mean?"
Clyde looked away, jaw flexing. "Are you really okay with Vincent now? Or are you just pretending to be?"
Ryley swallowed hard, his throat dry as ash.
Without a word, he reached up—gentle, trembling fingers cupping Clyde's cheek, guiding the Alpha to meet his gaze.
