Rocket sneezed.
I looked down at his absurdly cute face. “You’re right. That was dramatic.”
“This isn’t a joke, Parker.”
“No. Butyouare.”
He opened his mouth, but the look in my eyes must have been enough. He shut it again.
I walked him to the door, the whole way thinking how easy it would be to shove him down the steps and make it look like an accident. But I didn’t. I just held the door open pointedly and waited.
He hovered at the threshold. “They’re gonna know, you know. Iron Valor. They’ll know it was you.”
I stopped. “You sound like you’re hoping they take me out. You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
He hesitated, looked like he might try to say something soft, brotherly, a last-ditch appeal to our shared blood. But I didn’t give him the chance. I slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame. I felt the impact all the way through my bones. I knew that no matter what, I’d still save his ass when it came right down to it.
The silence after Axel left was deafening. It sat on my chest, dense as smog, and I almost welcomed it.
I put Rocket in his little bed next to the couch. For three seconds, I imagined myself as a cartoon of a happy person: queen of her own place, no one to answer to, no idiotic brother in tow.The illusion held for exactly as long as it took to cross to the kitchen and pour a finger of whiskey into a Waterford highball glass. Me in a pair of yoga pants, and a hoodie with the words ‘FUN GIRLS READ SMUT’ in hot pink emblazoned on the front, my short brunette hair with a riot of wild pink highlights slightly shaved over my left ear; I was nothing if not classy.
I knocked back the alcohol and shivered as the fire burned its way down. Outside, the sky was a sickly navy of early winter. The neighbors’ Christmas lights twinkled in the distance. I should have gotten a tree and pretended I had a reason to celebrate the season.
I didn’t want to think about Greenbriar, or Axel, or what the hell I was going to do when Iron Valor found out about the hack. But Ididthink about the other thing. The thing from the other night. The man in the mask.
I picked Rocket up and slowly slipped onto the couch, this time with a large glass of wine in my other hand. “Hey little guy, you’ve got a Class-A nut job for a mom, you know that?” He answered by licking my face. He was so cute.
I replayed every detail in my mind.
“Let me tell you why,” I murmured, scratching behind the floppy ears of my little wheels-off rescue sprawled across my lap. His tail thumped twice against the couch cushion. “So there I was, coming home late from Amarillo—coding disaster, brain fried, you know the vibe. And immediately, I smell…” I paused as he twisted to gnaw on my thumb, inkblot paws batting the air. “Oak. Citrus. Like fancy cologne, but… wilder. Like if a Christmas tree punched a tiger.”
Rocket sneezed, shook his head, and stared up at me with clear blue eyes. “Yeah, exactly. Weird, right?” I kept my voice breezy, though my fingers tightened in his fur. “I did the usual checks—closet, couch, bathroom—nada. Security panel green. But something just felt off, you know? Of course, you don’t know. You were living next to a dumpster a couple of days ago. Just, trustme on this..” His nose bumped my wrist, demanding pets. “So I started checking things. Sock under the bed, check; dresser neat and undisturbed, check!”
I scooped him closer, burying my face in his puppy-smell of grass and kibble. “Checked everything after; jewelry, safe, fridge. I think he even checked out the family pic magnet.” Rocket nibbled my sleeve. “He had to have seen the stalker romance book on the table, too. How’s that for irony? I was about to give up. Everything looked…normal. So I thought, backyard.”
Rocket yawned, a tiny squeak escaping him. “Don’t judge,” I muttered, kissing the tuft between his ears. “I turned on the deck light. And there he was, big as a dump truck, Rock. Black clothes, mask. And he just waved. Like we were old pals.” The puppy cocked his head, ears askew. “And get this—I froze. Like a dumbass first girl to get the axe in a slasher movie. Heart flatlined. But also…” I grimaced.
Rocket rolled onto his back, belly up, tongue lolling. “Ugh, fine.” I gave him tummy rubs. “Yes, masked massive cryptids watching me from my window are a major turn-on for me. Always have been. That’s why I read so many dark romances, and listen to so many creepy podcasts.” He pawed the air, blissfully clueless. “Can I help it if I’d love for a strong stranger to come in and take away all my choices for once? I’d like to have someone else in charge of what happens to me sometimes. Your owner is completely broken, buddy.” And damned if a tear didn’t escape my eye.
He wriggled free, skidding off the couch to chase a dust mote. “Yeah, run, buddy. Smart move.” I watched him pounce, tail helicoptering. “Worst part? Once I calmed down, I recognized his scent. Wolf. Male. Familiar. And my wolf…” I trailed off, staring at the ceiling. “Didn’t hate it.”
Rocket trotted back, a squeaky toy clamped in his jaws. “Point is,” I sighed, plucking the slobbery duck from his mouth, “I’m my own brand of disaster. Fangirl of toxic book boyfriends, weak forgiant creeps in knit masks…” His head tilted. “But hey, you’re cuter than him.”
He barked once—sharp, decisive—and flopped onto my feet.
“Yeah, yeah. Cuddles fix everything,” I muttered, flicking a glance at the fridge magnet. He’d looked at it. At my family. Rocket snored softly, paws twitching in a dream. I wished I could conk out immediately like that.
And somewhere in the night, I realized I wasn’t scared so much as fascinated. I knew I had no real reason to be frightened. I was a wolf, after all.
I left the puppy sleeping on the floor and went back to my office nook. I had to look at my camera logs once more just to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. There had to be some kind of proof that he’d been here.
I pulled up my home network’s logs, running the usual scripts to check for anomalies. I found dozens. Whoever he was, he’d been inside my router, inside my goddamn baby cams, not just snooping but erasing. A proper professional job—no logs, no traces, not even a misaligned timestamp. I should have been angry. Instead, I felt a sick, grudging respect.
I scrolled through video footage, hoping for a glitch, a shadow, anything. The loops were perfect. There was no sign of the man in black, not even in the hours I was home and awake. All I saw was myself pacing and searching.
That should have been the end of it. Shut the laptop, pour another drink, move on. But I couldn’t.
Every time I tried to close the feeds, I felt that mask lurking at the edge of my vision. The white circles for eyes, the slit mouth. The way he’d raised his hand in greeting, as if he’d known I was watching, as if he knew exactly what it would do to me.
