“History is written by whoever has the best record-keeping system.” I shrug,“what matters is that Hamilton was raised on bedtime stories of wolf treachery and pig perseverance.
“So this is… what? Revenge development?”
“That, and…” I hesitate, not sure how much to reveal.
“And what?”
I sigh. “And you.”
Ruby blinks. “Me?”
“You rejected him. At the very first zoning board meeting. He asked you to dinner, and you told him—let me make sure I get this right—that you’d ‘rather eat roadkill than break bread with a ham-handed developer who couldn’t find environmental consideration with two snouts and a GPS.’”
She winces. “I stand by the sentiment, if not the phrasing.”
“Hamilton doesn’t get rejected. Ever. It broke something in his brain.” I tap my temple. “Now he’s fixated on conquering both you and your territory. Two birds, one stone.”
“I’m not territory to be conquered,” she growls, a hint of wolf in her voice.
“I know that. Percy knows that too, in his way. Hamilton is… working through some issues.”
Ruby stands again, walking to the edge of the terrace. The city sprawls beneath us, a concrete jungle punctuated by the green oasis of Wolfstone Park in the distance.
“It’s perfect as it is,” she says softly, gesturing toward the park. “The natural springs, the meadow system, the old-growth forest. It doesn’t need improvement. It doesn’t need buildings or golf courses or whatever monstrosities your brother has planned.”
I join her at the railing, gazing out at the distant green patch. “I’ve never actually been in a forest before.”
“What? How is that possible?”
I shrug. “Porkwell’s don’t typically venture into wild territory unless we’re building on it. Plus, I burn after approximately twelve seconds in direct sunlight.”
That gets an actual laugh. It’s a nice sound—warm and genuine, without the practiced tones most people use around a Porkwell.
“You should see Wolfstone,” she says. “The main grove has trees that were saplings when this city was just a trading post. There’s a rock formation that looks like a howling wolf when the sun hits it just right. And the Echo Valley—” She stops, seeming to catch herself. “Sorry. You probably don’t care about wolf folklore.”
“No, go on. It sounds fascinating.” And I mean it. The way her eyes light up when she talks about her homeland makes something twist in my chest.
My relationship with nature has always been complicated. I understand ecosystems as data points—biodiversity indices, carbon sequestration rates, habitat connectivity metrics—but I’ve rarely experienced them firsthand. My world is climate-controlled rooms and digital landscapes.
But I’m not blind to what we’re losing. My algorithms modeling Shiftown’s environmental decline are frightening even to me. Every development shrinks the green spaces, fragments wildlife corridors, increases the heat island effect. The data doesn’t lie—we’re approaching tipping points that may be irreversible.
Hamilton sees this as acceptable collateral damage. Percy tries to design around it. But I’ve seen the projections, run the simulations.;there’s a reason I’ve been pushing for greener tech, for systems that workwithnature instead of against it.
“Echo Valley is where our ancestors would gather to share news between packs. The acoustics are perfect—you can whisper on one side and hear it clearly on the other. Natural amphitheater.” She smiles, lost in the memory. “My dad used to take me there for the summer solstice howl.”
“That sounds infinitely better than Porkwell family traditions, which mostly involve hostile takeovers and passive-aggressive holiday cards.”
Ruby laughs again, more freely this time. “You’re not what I expected, Prescott Porkwell.”
“I get that a lot. Usually followed by disappointment when people realize I lack Hamilton’s ruthless charisma or Percy’s artistic vision.”
“No,” she says thoughtfully. “It’s refreshing. You’re… real.”
I nearly drop my glasses, adjusting them. “Real” isn’t a word typically associated with Porkwells.
“Maybe that’s what Hamilton needs,” I say, the idea forming as I speak it. “To see Wolfstone through your eyes. Not as a development opportunity, but as a living, breathing ecosystem with cultural significance.”
Ruby looks skeptical. “Hamilton wouldn’t last five minutes in the wilderness without complaining about the lack of valet parking.”
