ETHAN’S POV
I told the pack I was headed north on business.
It wasn’t a lie. Just…not the complete truth.
A couple of hours from LA, Fog Harbor announced itself with a crooked sign and the smell of salt, diesel, and rot.
The city bled into fog the farther I drove. Concrete thinned into rusted railings and half-forgotten docks. It was the kind of place that looked like it had been abandoned in layers, decade after decade, until neglect itself felt historic.
According to our old butler, Paxton, his cousin, Tobias, had always favored places like this. Edges. In-betweens. Ports where people came and went without question.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I parked near the wharf. The engine ticked as it cooled, loud in the quiet. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the gray water slapping against barnacle-crusted pylons.
I hadn’t thought about Tobias in years.
Because I hadn’t remembered him.
