Logan's POV
"Is anybody going to ask or do I have to?"
Caleb groans and drops his face into his hands. I've never seen him look this tired. Not even after meetings that ran late into the night where he and Dad would drink coffee in the kitchen with haunted looks in their eyes muttering something about 'never ending complaints'. He's been running most of the pack's administration since Dad died, with Rowan shadowing him reluctantly.
Speaking of my brother, he sits beside Caleb and tries for a smile, but it crumples before it reaches his eyes. He's bouncing his leg up and down like it's the only thing keeping him from bolting out of the room.
Oliver squirms in my arms and tries to climb onto the round table in the center of the War Room. He pushes up with his hands, wobbles, and flops backward into my lap with a soft thud.
"Oh oh," he says mournfully.
I sit him up on the table and he starts to climb to his feet again. "Careful, Prince."
