No matter how much Lord Jethro's fingers twitched against the table, he didn't reach out.
"You don't want to do it?" he asked. "Does that mean you want to prove your old father right? Prove everything he ever said about you right?"
He paused briefly before continuing. "Very well. There will be no erasing of the Twelfth Pack. And since it is unwilling to be redeemed, and I am not willing to dissolve it and spread its sickness to other packs, you can return to it and die with it slowly until nothing remains."
The words sent a chill through Grey, even though Lord Jethro's tone wasn't nearly as harsh as the sentence itself.
"After finding out about everything your father did," Lord Jethro went on, "I didn't act against him because I believed his son would rise on his own and would show him by your own success just how much pain he caused you and your mother. But that doesn't seem like will happen after all."
Everything about the way he spoke felt intentional, as though he were pushing Grey toward a single choice.
"My duty is not to persuade people to work," He continued. "My duty is to ensure that every pack is in a better state than before. If a pack refuses help, I am permitted to walk away."
He paused, then added, "You are free to leave."
For the first time since Grey had met him, Lord Jethro's voice carried hesitation while saying those last words.
Grey didn't move.
He stayed seated. He didn't speak nor leave.
Lord Jethro didn't press him further. He lowered his gaze to the screen on his desk.
But the light steady tapping of his fingers betrayed him, whatever was displayed on that screen clearly wasn't holding his attention.
"I'll do it." Grey's voice finally broke the silence. It sounded firmer than he looked.
Lord Jethro looked up almost immediately, as though he had been waiting for those words all along.
"Very well," he said. "As I told you, go rest. Come back when you're ready." His tone was unreadable.
Grey stood and headed for the door, his steps unsteady. The moment he stepped out of the door, he nearly collided with Leo.
Something about the timing felt wrong. A thought crossed Grey's mind, that Leo might have been listening and was now pretending to be on his way toward Lord Jethro's office.
The idea irritated him more than he already was. Grey tried to pass him, but Leo stepped directly into his path.
"What?" Leo said. "You're still mad at me even after I apolo..."
The door behind them opened, cutting him off.
Lord Jethro stood in the doorway, his presence commanding the space instantly.
"Earlier, I realized that Alpha Greystone is not comfortable with you lingering around him in an attempt at friendship," Lord Jethro said. His voice was calm, yet heavy with authority. "I'm certain you've noticed this as well. I expect that you will respect it from this moment onward."
Leo lifted his hands slightly, as though surrendering. "Sorry," he muttered casually, stepping away.
Grey continued down the hallway. He wondered why Jethro addressed him that way even after he already knew Grey was an omega.
As he continued walking through the different hallways, voices drifted through the corridor, he realized they were maids talking quietly among themselves.
One of them spoke louder than the rest.
"I don't know what's wrong with my boyfriend anymore," she said. "I wish I had powers like Lord Jethro's, so I could read his mind and hear everything he thinks about me."
The words struck Grey sharply.
So it was true.
Lord Jethro could hear people's thoughts?!
The realization forced Grey to replay every encounter he'd had with him from their first meeting, to the courtroom..
He remembered the thoughts he'd had when they were in the courtroom, about Lord Jethro touching him the way he dreamt of a man touching him in his dreams.
He panicked.
Had Lord Jethro heard all of that too?
No. No, he couldn't have.
Grey forced himself to think logically. Lord Jethro was busy. He couldn't possibly be listening to every passing thought.
That had to be it.
Clinging to that explanation, he hurried down the corridor and returned to his room.
When he got to his room, he locked the door behind him and began undressing right there, barely bothering to move farther inside, and went straight into the bathroom, turned on the taps, and waited until the bathtub filled with warm water before lowering himself into it.
The moment his body sank beneath the surface, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaped him.
His eyes closed involuntarily. He desperately wanted to shut his mind off, to make everything stop for just a little while, but he already knew that wasn't possible.
So instead, he let his thoughts run free, racing back and forth, crashing into each other until the warmth of the water slowly dulled them.
Time stretched, he wasn't sure how long he had been there when a sharp knock sounded from outside the door.
The sound jolted him so violently that his eyes flew open. His heart lurched as he realized that.. his thoughts hadn't merely dulled. He had been drifting off to sleep.
Right there in the tub.
The realization sent a chill through him despite the warmth of the water. If the knock hadn't come when it did, he could have slipped under.
He could have drowned.
That was how exhausted he was. Not just physically, his soul felt overloaded, burdened with too much.
It clung to any fragile moment of quiet, even one that could have killed him.
He pushed himself out of the tub, water dripping from his skin, dried himself and dressed quickly.
He pulled on the outfit he hated so much.
When he opened the door, one of the maids who had shown him to the room stood outside. She bowed slightly, her posture respectful.
"Dinner is ready," she said.
Grey didn't feel like leaving the room. He didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like doing anything at all. "I'm good," he replied without a second thought, already starting to close the door.
"Lord Jethro sent for you," she added quickly.
Grey nearly groaned, but he still followed her.
When they reached the dining area, he realized it wasn't a single table, but several, but spacious.
One table stood apart, smaller than the rest, set with only three seats. Lord Jethro was already seated there, with his two wives occupying the other chairs.
Grey barely spared it a thought. Lord Jethro had been clear, he was only carrying his name. That didn't make him family.
He moved toward an empty table instead. But even as he repeated that reasoning to himself, an unsettled feeling twisted inside his chest, like something invisible tugging at him, refusing to let the thought settle.
"Next time, set a table that is larger," Lord Jethro said to a maid who had just brought in food, "one that fits everyone available."
Hearing that, something inside Grey loosened unexpectedly.