“Nobody wants you,” her younger sister scoffed sarcastically amidst the opulent ball packed with distinguished guests, leaving her to endure the pitying stares with her head bowed. But at that moment, Alpha King unexpectedly strode across the candlelit hall, appearing directly before her amidst the stunned crowd, transforming the mockery into a dramatic reversal of fortune.

Saraphene didn’t know that the man watching her from the shadows of the gilded ballroom was the most powerful king in the realm. She didn’t know that he had already refused 17 noble daughters that evening, or that the golden thread of fate had been pulling him toward her since the moment she stepped through the doors in her borrowed dress.

 All she knew was that her sister’s laughter cut sharper than any blade. The Thornwood estate had spared no expense for the Midsummer ball, and Saraphene felt every copper of that wealth pressing against her like a physical weight. Crystal chandeliers dripped honeyed light onto marble floors polished to mirror brightness. Silk gowns whispered secrets as ladies glided past in clouds of perfume and entitlement.

Gold thread caught candle light at every turn, and everywhere, everywhere, there were eyes. None of them kind. “You should have stayed in the kitchens where you belong,” Margot hissed, her painted lips curling into a smile that others might mistake for sisterly affection. She kept her voice low, pitched for maximum intimacy, the way a blade is sharpened for precision rather than brutality.

At least there you could pretend to be useful. Saraphene kept her spine straight. She had learned long ago that showing pain only invited more of it. Mother requested my presence. Mother requested a spectacle. Margot smoothed her crimson gown, the rubies at her throat catching firelight like drops of frozen blood.

 Everything about her eldest sister screamed wealth, from the careful curl of her dark hair to the delicate gold filigree on her slippers. Something for the guests to pity. The forgotten Thornwood daughter dressed in last season’s castoffs, pretending she belongs among her bettererss. The dress was borrowed from a maid named Nella, who had taken pity on her that afternoon.

 It was simple, dove gray silk with no embellishment, save a thin ribbon at the waist, but it was clean and it fit. Saraphene had thought it almost pretty when she had slipped it on in the servants’s quarters, had even dared to smile at her reflection. Now surrounded by jewel tones and glittering gems, she felt like a ghost at a feast, like a moth that had wandered into a gathering of butterflies and could not remember the way home.

 I won’t cause trouble,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay by the wall. No one will even notice me.” Margot laughed. The sound was bright and brittle, designed to carry nearby heads turned. Saraphene felt the weight of their curiosity like stones piled on her chest. “Notice you?” Margot raised her voice just enough for the cluster of young nobles nearby to hear.

She was performing now, playing to an audience that delighted in the misfortune of others. Oh, sweet sister, nobody wants you. Not the merchants, not the minor lords, not even the servants who share your quarters. You’re 23 years old and completely unmarked. Do you know what that means? Saraphene knew.

 Every unmated wolf in the realm knew. To reach her age without finding a match meant one of two things. Either fate had deemed her unworthy of a bond or she was so fundamentally broken that no soul could connect with hers. She had stopped believing in fate years ago. Broken she could accept. Broken was familiar. Broken she knew how to navigate.

It means I’m free, Saraphene said, and the words came out steadier than she felt. No mate to answer to, no bond to chain me. Some might call that a gift. Something ugly flickered beneath Margot’s porcelain surface. Surprise, perhaps, that the mouse had shown its teeth. Then she recovered, waving a dismissive hand heavy with rings.

 Keep telling yourself that, little sister, but we both know the truth. She leaned in, her perfume cloying, sweet and heavy and suffocating. Her lips brushed Saraphene’s ear. You’re nothing. You have nothing. And when father finally tires of housing his embarrassment, you’ll have nowhere to go. No one will take you in.

 No one will mourn your absence. You’ll vanish, and the world will keep spinning as if you never existed at all. She swept away in a rustle of silk, leaving Saraphene alone beside a marble pillar that had stood for centuries. The music swelled. Couples took to the floor in a swirl of color and coordinated grace. Saraphene pressed herself against the cold stone and tried to remember how to breathe.

She wasn’t nothing. She had survived 18 years in this house, survived her mother’s cold indifference, and her father’s quiet cruelty that never left marks, but always drew blood. She had survived Marggo’s torments, the whispers of servants who pied her almost as much as they feared being associated with her, the distant relatives who pretended not to see her at family gatherings.

 She had survived. But surviving wasn’t living. And lately, Saraphene had begun to wonder if there was any difference worth noting. Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video. It tells me you want more stories like this. The first time she felt it, she thought she was ill.

 A strange warmth bloomed in her chest without warning, spreading outward like spilled honey across cold bread. Her skin prickled. The fine hairs on her arms stood at attention. Her heart, which had been beating its usual steady rhythm, suddenly stumbled over itself and began to race. Saraphene pressed a hand to her sternum, confused. She had eaten little today, nerves stealing her appetite.

 But this didn’t feel like hunger. It felt like anticipation, like standing at the edge of a cliff in the dark and feeling the wind rise to meet her. Like the moment before lightning strikes, when the air turns to static and silver, like something was coming. She looked up. Across the ballroom, through the crush of bodies and the haze of candle light, a man was watching her.

 No, not watching, seeing her. There was a difference, she realized, and it stole the breath from her lungs with the force of a physical blow. He was tall, impossibly so, broad-shouldered in a way that spoke of power earned rather than inherited. Dressed in black, so dark it seemed to drink the light around him, he stood apart from the jewel toned nobility, like a shadow given form.

 His hair was the color of a raven’s wing, swept back from a face that looked carved from stone by an artist who understood both beauty and brutality. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a mouth set in a line that might have been stern if not for the slight curve at one corner that suggested dangerous things, but it was his eyes that pinned her in place.

[snorts] Even from this distance, she could see they were pale, ice blue or silver or something in between, blazing with an intensity that made her want to run and never stop. She didn’t run. She couldn’t move at all. The warmth in her chest pulled tight like a thread being drawn taut between them.

 Like something inside her was reaching for something inside him, straining toward connection with a desperation that frightened her. Saraphene had heard stories of the bond, the mystical connection between faded mates that transcended logic or choice or station. She had dismissed them as fairy tales told to comfort those who hadn’t found their match.

 Now standing frozen while a stranger’s gaze burned through her like sunlight through glass, she wondered if she had been terribly, terribly wrong. The man moved. The crowd parted for him like water around a stone. No one jostled him. No one blocked his path. Saraphene watched nobles bow their heads as he passed.

 Saw lady’s curtsy without daring to meet his eyes. A murmur rippled through the room, carrying his presence like wind, carrying the scent of smoke. Whoever he was, he commanded a respect that bordered on fear. He didn’t look at any of them. His attention never wavered from her, from the girl in the borrowed gray dress pressed against a pillar, forgotten by everyone except him. 10 ft away, five.

close enough now that she could see the silver threading through his irises like veins in marble. The faint scar that traced his left temple in a pale crescent, the way his chest rose and fell with carefully controlled breaths that suggested he was fighting for composure as desperately as she was. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, cutting through the ballroom’s chill like a blade.

 He stopped before her. The music continued a waltz, something bright and elegant. But Saraphene could no longer hear it over the thunder of her own pulse in her ears. “You,” he said. His voice was low, rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. It did something to her spine. That voice made her want to lean into it like warmth from a fire.

 What is your name? Saraphene’s mouth had gone dry. She should curtsy. She should lower her eyes, defer, submit. Every instinct drilled into her since childhood screamed that this man was dangerous, powerful, someone to be feared and obeyed without question. Instead, she lifted her chin. Does it matter? Something flickered in those silver eyes.

 Surprise, perhaps, or amusement, or something more complicated. something that looked almost like hunger. It matters to me. Then you’re the first person in this room who cares. The words escaped before she could stop them. Bitter, honest, the kind of honesty that had earned her more than one slap from her mother, more than one week of denied meals.

 The stranger didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her skin burn and her knees threatened to buckle. You’re the Thornwood daughter, he said. It wasn’t a question. The one they keep hidden. I’m not hidden. I’m ignored. There’s a difference. There is. He took a step closer and Saraphene’s back pressed against the pillar, trapped between stone and heat, between her past and something unknown.

 You stood by this pillar for 20 minutes. Not a single person spoke to you. Not a single person asked you to dance. Your own sister publicly humiliated you while nobles watched and laughed. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. And yet you didn’t cry, didn’t flee. You stood here like a queen surveying her kingdom.

 As if their cruelty couldn’t touch you. Saraphene swallowed. Her throat felt raw. You were watching me. I couldn’t stop. The admission hung between them, heavy with meaning she didn’t fully understand. Around them, Saraphene became aware of whispers, of eyes turning in their direction, of the weight of attention she had wished for her entire life suddenly crushing her.

The stranger seemed to notice, too. His expression shifted, hardening into something protective. Come with me. I don’t even know your name. Kyle. He offered his hand, palm up. She could see the calluses there. Earned marks of a man who worked with weapons rather than servants. And I’m asking, not commanding.

Saraphene looked at his outstretched hand, at the strength in those long fingers, the silver ring on his smallest finger bearing a crest she almost recognized. at the vulnerability beneath his stern exterior. The way his hand trembled almost imperceptibly as if this mattered to him, as if she mattered. She took his hand.

 The moment their skin touched, the thread in her chest snapped tight. Golden light flickered at the edge of her vision. There and gone in a heartbeat. Saraphene gasped and Kale<unk>’s grip tightened, steadying her, anchoring her to earth when she felt like she might float away. “I know,” he murmured, pitched for her ears alone. “I feel it, too.

” He led her through the crowd, through doors she hadn’t noticed, into a moonlit garden where roses climbed ancient walls, and the music faded to a distant murmur. Saraphene followed in a days, her hand still clasped in his, the warmth of him spreading through her like wildfire claiming dry grass. They stopped beside a fountain.

 Water sang over weathered stone, and the air smelled of night blooming jasmine and something else, something wild and green. Moonlight turned everything to silver. “You feel it,” Kale said. “Not a question, a certainty. Saraphene nodded. She couldn’t deny it. Not with his hand and hers. Not with every nerve in her body singing a frequency she had never known existed.

I’ve waited for this. His voice cracked just barely on the last word. For you for years. Every ball, every gathering, every treaty negotiation that dragged me to another godforsaken noble house. I was looking. I was always looking. You don’t know me. I know you’ve been hurt. I can see it in the way you hold yourself.

 Like you’re always waiting for the next blow. Like kindness is a trick you’ve learned not to trust. He released her hand, but only to cup her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones with devastating gentleness. I know you’re strong, stronger than anyone in that ballroom realizes. And I know that the bond between us is real. Saraphene’s eyes burned.

 She blinked rapidly, fighting against hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope was a door left open in winter, letting in cold that killed. Why me? The question felt ripped from somewhere deep and wounded. I’m nobody. I have nothing. I can’t give you alliances or lands or heirs that anyone would accept. You’re everything.

 He said it like it was simple, like it was true, like there was no other possible answer. You’re the other half of my soul. I would burn kingdoms to keep you safe. I would tear the stars from the sky if you asked me to. I don’t even know who you are. Something shifted in his expression. A shadow passing over the moon. You don’t recognize me.

 Should I? Kale stepped back. His hand fell away from her face and Saraphene immediately felt the loss of his warmth like a wound. The crest on my ring, he said quietly. Look at it. She looked, really looked this time. A wolf’s head crowned with thorns, silver on black, the symbol that flew from banners across the northern realm.

 The symbol of the Alpha King. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth, her heart hammering so hard she could taste copper. Your Kale Venthus, Alpha King of the Northern Realm. His voice was flat, waiting. Does that change things? Saraphene’s mind raced. The Alpha King, the most powerful wolf in existence, ruler of territories that stretched from the Frost Mountains to the Ember Sea.

Stories about him were told in whispers, his ruthlessness in battle, his iron grip on his kingdom, the trail of broken enemies he had left in his wake. He had united waring factions through sheer force of will. He had faced down rebellions and emerged stronger. He was legend.

 And she had just told him he was the first person in the room who cared about her name. “I insulted you,” she breathed. “I was rude. I didn’t show proper respect. You were honest. Kale<unk>’s eyes softened, the silver warming to something almost tender. Do you know how rare that is? Everyone in that ballroom wants something from me. Power, money, protection, territory.

They see a crown before they see a man. You didn’t even know who I was. And you still spoke to me like I was a person, not a title. I thought you were just some arrogant lord. The corner of his mouth twitched. I am arrogant. I’m also your mate. The word hung between them. Mate faded. Bound by something older than kingdoms and stronger than fear. This is insane.

Saraphene whispered. I’m nobody. My own family treats me like a servant. I don’t have a dowy. I don’t have connections. I have nothing to offer a king. You have yourself. Kyle closed the distance between them again, slower this time, giving her room to flee. She didn’t. That’s more than enough.

 The court will never accept me. The court will accept whoever I tell them to accept. My family has treated you abominably. His voice hardened, taking on an edge that reminded her this was not just a man, but a king who commanded armies. I saw your sister’s performance. I’ve been watching your household all evening, Saraphene.

 I came to this ball because my advisers demanded I make an appearance, and I found something far more precious than political alliances. He took her hands in his. Both of them this time cradled between his palms like something fragile and valuable and worth protecting. I won’t force you, he said. The bond doesn’t work like that. You have a choice.

 You’ll always have a choice with me. But I’m asking you to consider it. Consider a life where you’re not invisible. Consider me. Saraphene stared at their joined hands. His were so much larger than hers, roughened by sword work and scarred by battles she couldn’t imagine. [snorts] Yet they held her with such care like she was made of glass and gold.

Why would you want me? The question felt like tearing out her own heart and offering it up for judgment. I’m damaged. I don’t know how to be loved. I’ve spent my whole life surviving and I don’t know if I can be anything more than that. Then we’ll learn together. Kale lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles that burned hotter than any fire.

 I’m not asking for perfection. I’m asking for a chance. Before she could respond, voices drifted from the ballroom. Raised voices, angry ones. “That’s my father,” Saraphene said, dread pooling in her stomach like cold water. Kale<unk>’s expression shifted. The tenderness vanished, replaced by something cold and predatory.

His eyes hardened to chips of ice. Then let’s go remind him who his daughter belongs to now. They returned to the ballroom together, hand in hand. The whispers that had been soft before erupted into a roar of speculation. Saraphene saw her father at the center of the room, face purpling with rage, her mother beside him clutching a handkerchief as though propriety could shield them.

 And Marot, standing slightly behind them, her crimson gown suddenly garish against the elegant backdrop, her smile frozen on her face in a rich of disbelief. There she is. Lord Thornwood’s voice boomed across the dance floor. Saraphene, come here immediately. You’ve embarrassed this family enough for one evening. Saraphene felt herself shrink, old instincts surfacing like bodies in a flood, but Kale<unk>’s hand tightened on hers, and his thumb stroked across her palm in silent reassurance.

Lord Thornwood. Kale<unk>’s voice cut through the noise like a blade through silk. Conversation died. The orchestra stumbled to silence. A word, if you please. The color drained from her father’s face. Your majesty, I didn’t realize that is. I wasn’t informed. No, you weren’t. Kyle moved forward drawing Saraphene with him because you were too busy parading your titled daughter before me like a prize mare to notice that your king was watching something far more interesting.

Margot made a small strangled sound. I’ve spent the last hour in this ballroom, Kale continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. No one moved. No one breathed. I’ve seen your hospitality on full display, Lord Thornwood. I watched your heir mock her own sister in public. I watched your guests treat Lady Saraphene as if she were invisible.

 I watched you and your wife ignore her entirely, as though she were a stain you hoped no one would notice. Lord Thornwood sputtered. She’s We didn’t uh Your majesty Saraphene is mine. The word fell like a hammer on stone. I don’t know what she did to earn your contempt, Kale said. And frankly, I don’t care, but I need you to understand something.

 He released Saraphene’s hand only to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side in a gesture that declared ownership and protection in equal measure. This woman is my faded mate, my bond, my future queen. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects the crown, and I do not take insults to my crown lightly. The silence was absolute.

 A pin dropping would have sounded like thunder. Saraphene watched her family’s faces cycle through shock, disbelief, and finally sickening obsequiousness. Her mother recovered first, sweeping forward with a brilliant smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Your Majesty, what wonderful news. We always knew Saraphene was destined for great things, didn’t we, darling.

 We’ve been preparing her for this moment all her life. Lord Thornwood nodded vigorously. Yes, yes, of course. Our beloved daughter, always such a treasure. Enough. Kale<unk>’s voice was ice and iron. Lady Saraphene and I will be departing. You’ll receive formal communication from my court regarding her transition to the palace.

 He turned, guiding Saraphene toward the doors. But Margot stepped into their path, her mask of composure cracking to reveal something desperate and ugly beneath. “This isn’t possible,” she hissed. “She’s nothing. She’s unmarked, unremarkable. She is everything,” Kale said calmly. “And you are in my way.” Margot didn’t move.

 Her hands were shaking, her carefully styled hair beginning to come loose. “Do you know what she is? What our family has hidden for years?” A bitter laugh escaped her. Ask her about her mother, her real mother. Ask her why she doesn’t shift, why she’s never belonged. Marot. Lady Thornwood’s voice cracked like a whip. That’s enough. But the damage was done.

 Saraphene felt the words like physical blows. Each one landing on a wound she had tried desperately to forget. Her real mother, the woman her father never spoke of. The reason she was different, other wrong. She pulled away from Kale, wrapping her arms around herself. Saraphene. His voice was gentle now, stripped of its royal authority.

Whatever she’s implying is true, Saraphene forced herself to meet his eyes. I’m not fully wolf. My birth mother was human. She died when I was three, and my father remarried almost immediately. She gestured at Lady Thornwood, who had the grace to look uncomfortable. I’m a halfling. That’s why I’ve never shifted.

 That’s why the bond never found me before. That’s why I’m She stopped the bond. But she had felt it was still feeling it. The golden thread between them thrumming with warmth and life. Kale stared at her for a long moment. Then he started to laugh. The sound was unexpected, warm and rich, filling the silent ballroom. That’s it.

That’s your family’s great secret. He shook his head, something fierce and bright burning in his eyes. Saraphene, I don’t care if you’re half human, half fay, or half mountain troll. The bond doesn’t care about bloodlines. It doesn’t care about what you can or cannot shift into. It cares about souls. He crossed to her in two strides, cupping her face in his hands with a tenderness that broke something inside her.

 I felt you the moment you walked into this room. My wolf has been howling for you since you took your first breath inside these walls. Human blood or not, you’re mine and I’m yours if you’ll have me. Saraphene searched his face for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that this was some elaborate cruelty, a twist of fate designed to break her more completely than anything before.

 She found only truth, only love, only a future she had never dared to imagine. Yes, she whispered. I’ll have you. Kyle kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t chased. It was a claiming, fierce and hot and full of promise. Saraphene gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand sliding into her hair, while the other pressed against the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was no space between them at all.

 The golden thread between them blazed. She could feel it solidifying, weaving their souls together in a pattern that could never be undone. His heartbeat thundered against her chest, matching hers rhythm for rhythm. When they finally broke apart, Saraphene was trembling. So was he. “The carriage,” Kale murmured against her lips.

 “Now before I do something extremely inappropriate for a ballroom.” She laughed, the sound wet with tears she hadn’t noticed falling. He kissed those away, too. He kept an arm around her as they walked past her stunned family, past the gaping guests, past Margot’s tear streaked face. At the doorway, Saraphene paused.

 She turned back to look at the house that had been her prison for so long. “I hope you find your happiness,” she said quietly. “I’ve found mine.” Three months later, Saraphene woke to sunlight streaming through silk curtains and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear. She smiled, burrowing closer to the warmth.

 Kale<unk>’s arm tightened around her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her hip. “Morning,” he murmured into her hair. “Morning!” She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against her lips. How long have you been awake? A while. I was watching you sleep. That’s creepy. It’s romantic. He rolled them over, bracing himself above her, silver eyes soft with a love that still stole her breath. My mate, my queen.

Still the most beautiful thing in any room. Saraphene laughed, the sound bright and unfamiliar even now. Three months of this and she still couldn’t quite believe it was real. The palace with its soaring towers and endless gardens. The court that had embraced her with surprising warmth once they realized she was no threat to their ambitions.

 The people who bowed when she passed, not with pity, but with genuine respect. and kale. Always kale. Every morning, every night, and all the moments in between. The ambassador from the Eastern Territories arrives today, she reminded him. You have meetings until lunch. Then let’s stay in bed until lunch. The kingdom will collapse. Let it. He kissed her nose.

 I’ll rebuild it tomorrow. She pushed at his chest, laughing. Go be a king. I have my own responsibilities. It was true. In three months, Saraphene had found her footing in ways she never expected. She had established a shelter for abandoned children in the lower city, a place where halflings and orphans could find safety and belonging.

She had begun mediating minor disputes between noble houses, her outsiders perspective proving unexpectedly valuable. She had learned to ride, to dance, to hold her own in the verbal sparring matches that passed for court entertainment. She had learned to be happy. “A letter arrived for you this morning,” Kale said suddenly serious.

“From the Thornwood estate,” Saraphene stilled. “My father, your sister, Margot.” She hadn’t spoken to her family since the night of the ball. There had been formal communications, of course, cold letters of congratulation and carefully worded requests for audience that Kale had intercepted and denied, but nothing personal, nothing direct.

What does she want? I didn’t open it. It’s yours to read or burn as you choose. Saraphene sat up, wrapping the silk sheet around herself. Through their bond, she could feel Kale’s concern, his protective instincts rising like hackles. He would rip the letter to shreds if she asked. He would storm the Thornwood estate and demand apologies.

He would wage war against anyone who had ever hurt her. But that wasn’t what she needed. I’ll read it, she decided. Later, whatever poison she’s written can’t touch me anymore. Kale sat up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. You’re stronger than they ever gave you credit for. I had to be.

 She leaned back into his warmth. But I don’t have to be strong alone anymore. Later that afternoon, after Kale had gone to his meetings and Saraphene had spent the morning at the children’s shelter, she sat in the palace gardens with the unopened letter in her hands. The seal was burgundy wax. The handwriting was precise and familiar.

Her heartbeat steady, no longer racing at the thought of her sister’s cruelty. She broke the seal. Sister, the letter began. I don’t expect your forgiveness, and I won’t insult you by asking for it. But I find myself unable to sleep these past months. Unable to look at myself in the mirror without seeing the creature who tormented you for so many years.

 I was jealous. I have always been jealous of you, though I could never admit it. You had something I could never possess. Peace within yourself. Even when we hurt you. Even when the world was cruel, you remained kind. You remained gentle. You remained you. I told myself I hated you because you were weak.

 Now I understand that I hated you because you were strong in ways I could never be. I don’t ask for reconciliation. I don’t deserve it. But I wanted you to know that you were right that night at the ball. I hope you found your happiness. I hope the king sees in you what I was too blind to recognize.

 I hope someday I can become worthy of being called your sister. Marggo Saraphene read the letter twice, then a third time. Then she folded it carefully and tucked it into her pocket. Perhaps someday she would write back. Perhaps healing was possible, even for wounds this deep. But that was a decision for another day. For now she had a king who loved her, a purpose that fulfilled her, and a future brighter than anything she had ever dared to dream.

 She rose from the garden bench and walked back toward the palace where Kale was waiting on the steps, having finished his meetings early. Everything all right? He asked, searching her face. Saraphene smiled. A real smile, the kind that reached her eyes and warmed her from within. Everything is perfect. Kale caught her hand before she could slip away, pressing it to his chest where his heart beat steady and strong.

 “I love you,” he said. The words were simple, “True. He said them often like he was making up for all the years she had gone without hearing them. I love you too. She kissed him there on the palace steps where anyone could see where the whole world could witness what they had built together. Through the bond she felt his joy singing back to her, golden and warm and infinite.

 Through the window behind them, she could see the palace gardens in full summer bloom, the city sprawling beyond the walls in a tapestry of stone and life, the mountains rising in the distance like ancient sentinels. A new life, a new beginning, and all because a king had crossed a ballroom for a girl nobody wanted. Where are you listening from? Let’s meet in the comments.

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