“Evan.” He set down his pen and gestured to the chair across from his desk. “How was school?”
I settled into the familiar leather chair, letting the day's tension drain from my shoulders. Here, in this room that smelled like pine and old leather, I could breathe. Here, words came easier.
“Same as always,” I said, then hesitated. “Mostly.”
Dad's eyebrows rose at the qualifier, and I saw the exact moment his parental radar kicked in. “Mostly?”
“I had coffee with Nate today. At Martha's place.” The words came out in a rush, like I was confessing to some terrible crime instead of just having hot chocolate with a friend.
“The Harrington boy.” Dad leaned back in his chair, studying me. “That's good, son. You've been spending too much time alone.”
There was something in his voice, though, something careful and measuring that made my wolf prick up his ears in warning.
“What do you know about his family?” Dad asked, settling into the tone he used for pack business. “The Harringtons. They came here from Portland, right?”
“Yeah. His dad works in finance, mom's the new English teacher.” I shifted in my chair, unsure where this was heading. “Why does it matter?”
Dad was quiet for a long moment, and I could practically see him weighing his words.
“Because you matter, Evan. Because someday you'll be Alpha of this pack, and every relationship you form reflects on all of us.” His voice was gentle but implacable, carrying the weight of generations of Callahan responsibility. “I need to know that the people you trust are worthy of that trust.”
“He's not pack,” I said, and hated how defensive I sounded.
“No,” Dad agreed. “He's not. And that makes him a potential liability.”
“He's not dangerous.” The words came out sharper than I'd intended.
“Maybe not intentionally,” Dad said, and there was sympathy in his voice now. “But humans who get too close to our world have a way of asking questions we can't answer. Of seeing things they shouldn't see.”
Like wolf tracks in the forest. Like the way pack members deferred to me without being asked. Like the reasons why certain families had money and influence while others kept their heads down and their mouths shut.
“I'm careful,” I said, but the words felt weak even to me.
“I know you are.” Dad leaned forward, his expression softening into something that looked like the father I remembered from before Mom died. “I'm not saying you can't be friends with the boy, Evan. I'm just saying... be aware of what that friendship might cost. For both of you.”
Getting close to humans was dangerous for reasons that went beyond pack secrecy.
“I understand,” I said finally, because what else could I say?
Dad nodded, but his eyes held the sadness that came from knowing some lessons could only be learned through experience.
“Your mother would have liked him,” he said quietly, and the unexpected words made my chest tighten. “She always said you needed someone who could see past the silence to who you really are.”
I swallowed hard, throat burning with the weight of missing her. “Yeah. She would have.”
“Be careful,” Dad said as I stood to leave. “But don't be afraid to live.”
5
THE VOICE BENEATH THE SILENCE
NATE (AGE: 16)
Ayear. Twelve months of careful conversations conducted through notebook pages and stolen glances across crowded hallways, and I still felt like I was slowly dying every time Evan Callahan looked at me.
Not the dramatic, teenage angst kind of dying. The quiet kind, where your chest gets tight and your hands shake and you realize with crystalline clarity that you've fallen so far down the rabbit hole there's no climbing back out.
I was fucked, basically. Completely and utterly fucked.
