Chapter 18 · Third Burn

"Sign it, Rowan."

Callum threw the annulment papers on my desk so hard the lamp jumped. Rain dripped off his jaw onto the top page, blurring the ink where my name was already typed in.

"You're soaked," I said. "Sit before you drown my files."

"I'm not sitting." His voice had that flat command note he used on the pack, the one that used to make my knees go stupid. "The port board votes at nine tomorrow. I need this notarized tonight or the whole deal walks."

"Then you should've married someone who signs things."

He put both hands flat on the desk and leaned in, close enough that I caught wet wool and the copper smell that always meant his wolf was riding close to the skin. "Rowan."

"Don't." I didn't move back. That was the mistake, probably, staying put. "You rejected me in front of two hundred people, Callum. You don't get to say my name like it still means something and expect a pen in your hand ten minutes later."

"It's not about us."

"It's never about us. It's about the port, the board, the treaty, the — " My arm burned. Not metaphor-burned.