Slade had never been a man who needed reminding of what belonged to him.

Territory. Contracts. Enemies.

He tracked them all with the same precision.

But this—

This wasn’t something that required strategy.

The safe house was quieter than usual, the kind of stillness that came after long days and longer nights. No weapons laid out on tables. No mission plans spread across screens.

Just the low, steady presence of something…his.

Slade stood in the doorway for a moment, broad frame filling the space as his gaze settled on the room beyond.

His mate.

His pups.

The word settled heavy in his chest—not unfamiliar, but still carrying a weight he hadn’t quite decided what to do with.

He stepped inside without a sound, boots quieter than they had any right to be for a man his size. His eye moved carefully, taking in every detail the way he would a battlefield—except there was no threat here.

Nothing to eliminate.

Nothing to guard against.

Just something to protect.

His hand came to rest briefly against the back of a chair, grounding, before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Didn’t plan for this,” he admitted, voice low and rough in the quiet.

A pause followed as his gaze shifted again, sharper now—but not with suspicion.

With certainty.

“But it’s mine.”

The words weren’t soft.

They weren’t gentle.

They were absolute.

And Slade had never been the kind of man to walk away from something he considered his.