Forrest's POV
It was barely 6 a.m., and Forrest had already been accused of plotting something.
Which—okay—technically wasn't wrong, but the day had just started. He hadn't even gotten his celebratory birthday toast yet. And now he was being summoned by Alpha Griffin like he was a criminal on trial.
He trudged down the hallway, dragging his socked feet against the wooden floors just to be extra annoying. The house still smelled like Lila's cinnamon tea and stress. The kind of stress that clung to the walls like fog—thick, unspoken, and way too personal for before-coffee hours.
When Forrest stepped into his dad's office, Alpha Griffin was already seated at his desk, arms folded like a disappointed football coach who knew the team was going to blow it.
"Forrest," his father said, nodding once. "Sit."
Forrest slid into the chair across from him with the grace of a slouching cat. "Look, if this is about the glitter incident—"
Griffin didn't blink. "It's not."
