"That's a real job," someone says from across the room, firm.
"A good job," someone else adds.
"Thanks. I—yeah. I like it." I poke at my fries. "I run the youth literacy programs, mostly. We're doing drag queen story hour this week. Miss Glitterbomb does all the voices and my roommate makes themed snacks."
"Wait, your roommate bakes for story hour?"
"He's a pastry chef. He made mouse-shaped cookies last week because we readIf You Give a Mouse a Cookie."
"That's adorable. I want to come to story hour."
"It's Thursdays at eleven. Open to the public." I take another sip of tea. "Though I'm not sure it's really your scene."
"Why not? I like stories. I like drag queens. I like cookies shaped like mice." He grins. "I'm extremely well-rounded."
Before I can respond, someone's phone buzzes. Then another. Then three more in rapid succession.
The atmosphere shifts.
It's subtle at first—a straightening of spines, a sharpening of attention. The easy warmth of a moment ago drains away, replaced by something alert and expectant. Vaughn and Ezra exchange a look I can't read. The silver-haired man sets down the glass he was polishing and goes very still.
"He's coming," someone murmurs, low enough that I almost miss it.
I glance around, confused, but no one offers an explanation. They're all facing the door now, or positioned so they can see it. The careful wariness is back, but it's different this time—less about me and more about anticipation. Maybe nerves.
The front door opens, bringing a gust of cold air that cuts through the warmth of the blanket.
Heavy footsteps cross the threshold, steady and unhurried. Confident. The kind of walk that belongs to someone who's never questioned their place in the world.
Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath.
Everyone except me, because I'm oblivious and deep in enjoying the fries and what's left of my burger.
Chapter 2
Knox
The scent hits me before I even get the door open.
Human. Pure, uncomplicated human—not the stale trace of someone who passed through hours ago, but fresh and immediate andhere. Drenched in rain and misery and something else underneath, something that makes my lion lift his head for the first time in months. Fear pheromones, sharp but already fading into exhaustion. And beneath all of it, beneath the rain and the cold and the lingering traces of cheap cologne, something warm. Something sweet.
Something my lion wants to bury his face in and never leave.
I shove that thought down hard. Ezra's texts were sparse—Human walked in. Jason's feeding him. Come now.—but even those three sentences were enough to get me off my bike and across town in record time. A human in the bar is a problem. A human beingfedby Jason is a disaster waiting to happen.
I push through the door.
The scene arranges itself in front of me like a photograph I'll never be able to forget. My pack, arranged in a protective semicircle around the corner booth—protective of what, I'm not sure yet. Jason hovering at the edge of the table like a nervous parent. Vaughn by the window, practically vibrating with tension, his hand flexing like he's resisting the urge to shift. Ezra at the bar, watching everything with those sharp eyes. Silas emerging from the kitchen with a plate of food.
And in the middle of it all, in the booth that's basically the heart of my territory—
Jesus Christ.
He's drowning in my blanket.Myblanket, the one from my office, the one that smells like me because I fall asleep on ithalf the time after late nights doing paperwork. Someone—Silas, probably, he's the only one who'd think of it—grabbed it and wrapped it around a human like that was a reasonable thing to do. Like covering a stranger in my scent wasn't going to make my lion lose his entire mind.
Too late for that, apparently.
The human has dark hair that's sticking up in every direction, half-dried and chaotic. Black-framed glasses that he's currently cleaning on the edge of my blanket—my blanket—while squinting at his phone like it's personally offended him. He's mumbling something about payment methods and tapping at the screen with one hand while the other shoves fries into his mouth with the mechanical efficiency of someone who forgot to eat dinner.
