“Maybe it is preparation for war,” I said finally. “Maybe the peaceful pack life we've all gotten used to is about to end, and maybe the only choice we have is to be ready when that happens.”
“How long do we have?” Jonah asked quietly.
“I don't know. What I do know is that when it comes, we need to be ready.”
They absorbed this information with the careful attention of people who'd just learned their world was more dangerous than they'd realized. But there was no panic, no breakdown, just the grim acceptance that came from understanding that some fights couldn't be avoided.
“Same time tomorrow?” Alaric asked.
“Same time tomorrow,” I confirmed. “And every day until this is over.”
They dispersed slowly, heading back toward the mill and normal life and the comfortable illusion that preparedness wasthe same as safety. I lingered in the forest, letting my wolf pace beneath my skin while I tried to process the morning's revelations.
We were getting better. Faster, stronger, more coordinated. But would it be enough when faced with enemies who'd spent years studying our weaknesses? Would pack bonds and supernatural reflexes be sufficient against threats that had already eliminated forty-three wolves across seven territories?
Time would tell. And in the meantime, we'd train like our lives depended on it.
Because they probably did.
I was driving backfrom the lumber yard, Dad's ancient Ford loaded with enough two-by-fours to build a small house, when I spotted the figure hunched over an open hood on the side of Miller Road.
Even from a distance, I knew that silhouette. The way he held his shoulders when he was frustrated, the particular angle of his head when he was trying to figure out a problem that didn't want to be solved. My wolf perked up immediately, interest spiking through me like electricity through copper wire.
Nate, apparently having the kind of day that made Murphy's Law look optimistic.
I pulled over behind what I recognized as Michael's sedan—a practical thing that looked like it had been designed by accountants for accountants—and killed the engine. Steam rose from under the hood like automotive incense, and Nate was glaring at the engine block like he could intimidate it into working through sheer force of will.
“Having fun?” I asked, climbing out of my truck.
He looked up, and the relief that flooded his face made something warm and stupid flutter in my chest. His hair was messed up from running his hands through it, there was a smudge of something dark on his cheek, and he looked about as far from the confident photographer he'd been trying to project since he got back as it was possible to get.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed, sagging against the car like his strings had been cut. “Please tell me you know something about engines that isn't 'have you tried turning it off and on again?'”
“Depends. What's it doing?”
“Making sounds like it's dying a slow, painful death. Which, considering it's Dad's car and I'm supposed to be the responsible adult who borrowed it to run errands, feels like a metaphor for my entire existence right now.”
I bit back a smile at the dramatic flair that was pure Nate. Some things really didn't change.
“Let me take a look,” I said, moving to peer under the hood. The problem was immediately obvious—a burst radiator hose that had decorated half the engine bay with bright green coolant. “Well, the good news is it's not terminal.”
“And the bad news?”
“The bad news is you're not driving anywhere until we get this fixed. The worse news is that the parts store closed twenty minutes ago.”
Nate's face went through several expressions, settling on something that looked like he was calculating exactly how much his father was going to lecture him about responsibility and taking care of other people's property.
“Fuck,” he said with feeling. “Dad's going to kill me. This was supposed to be a simple grocery run. In and out, twenty minutes tops. Instead, I've managed to strand myself on the side of theroad like some kind of incompetent city boy who doesn't know the first thing about cars.”
“Hey.” I caught his attention before the spiral of self-recrimination could really pick up steam. “Shit happens. Hoses burst. It's not like you drove it into a tree.”
“Yet,” he muttered, but some of the tension left his shoulders.
“Come on. I'll give you a ride back to town, we can grab whatever's on your dad's list, and I'll come back tomorrow with the parts to fix this.”
Nate blinked at me like I'd just offered to perform actual magic. “You'd do that?”
Something about his surprise made my chest tighten uncomfortably. Like he'd genuinely expected me to drive past, to leave him stranded because helping wasn't my problem. It made me wonder what his six years away had been like, whether the city had taught him that kindness came with a price tag attached.
