Noah's POV
The car ride home is quiet, but for once, it's a good quiet.
Logan's fingers drum an absent rhythm on the dash board, his other hand warm around mine. The late afternoon sun paints his profile in gold, catching the faintest hint of a smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
He'd been so alive today. In a good mood.
He's always so active during training. He won't say it but I know he likes it.
He's been working on auto-pilot these past few weeks, simply functioning, going through the motions of pack leadership and war. His happiness is short and fleeting.
They come like sunlight breaking through a storm, bright and dazzling, and then gone again before I can blink. Sad, brooding quiet that chokes every room he's in most days.
