I dance away, laughing. “Can’t cheat if there are no rules, Ham.”
Percy and Prescott arrive moments later, carrying the picnic basket and looking equally winded.
“You two are ridiculous,” Percy complains, but he’s smiling.
We settle by the lake’s edge—the same spot where, three months ago, everything changed. Prescott lays out the food while Percy uncorks a bottle of wine.
I watch them, marveling at how each has transformed since I first stormed into their office.
Hamilton, once rigidly formal and coldly calculating, now occasionally lets his pig ears show even during video conferences. “It keeps competitors off-balance,” he claimed when I caught him, but I know better. He’s finally embracing parts of himself he spent decades suppressing.
Percy’s transformation has been subtler but no less profound. The passionate energy he once poured into luxury developments now fuels educational spaces. His eyes light up differently now—not with the pride of imposing his vision, but with the joy of enhancing what already exists.
And Prescott—quiet, brilliant Prescott—has perhaps changed the most visibly. Once hiding behind screens in climate-controlled rooms, now spends hours tracking wildlife, histechnology serving as an extension of his curiosity rather than a barrier between him and the world. I caught him last week in full pig form, watching a racoon family from a respectful distance, completely transfixed.
“A toast,” Hamilton says, raising his glass once we’re all served. “To unlikely partnerships.”
“To conservation,” adds Prescott.
“To new beginnings,” says Percy.
I look at these three males—these three pigs who were supposed to be my enemies—and feel something warm unfurl in my chest.
“To breaking the rules,” I offer, clinking my glass against theirs.
“So,” Percy says eventually, “now that the cottage is almost done and Wolfstone Preserve has been preserved… what’s next?”
It’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself lately.
“There’s the North Campus development,” Hamilton says.
“I was thinking more about us,” Percy clarifies. “This… arrangement.”
Ah. That.
“What about it?” I ask cautiously. We’ve been existing in a strange, wonderful limbo these past months—working together by day, exploring each other by night, but never really defining what “this” is.
“I like it,” Percy says simply. “I want it to continue.”
“As do I,” Prescott adds, taking a bite of his sandwich.
Hamilton is silent, and my stomach twists.
“I’ve purchased the adjacent property,” Hamilton says abruptly. “Thirty acres, including the ridge overlooking the valley.”
We all stare at him.
“Why?” I finally ask.
His ears twitch in that defensive way again. “It seemed prudent for the expansion of the reserve.”
“And?” Percy prompts, clearly sensing there’s more.
Hamilton sighs. “And I thought perhaps we might want a more permanent residence. Something with enough space for four shifters.”
My heart skips a beat. “Are you suggesting we all live together?”
“Not in this cottage,” Hamilton clarifies quickly. “It’s charming but impractical. I was thinking something custom-designed.” He glances at Percy. “Something that blends with the environment while providing adequate space.”
