Before I could respond, before I could figure out whether that was wisdom or insult, Nate exploded.
“Stop.” His voice cut through the building tension like a gunshot, loud enough to make everyone in the room turn towardhim. “Just fucking stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here.”
He was shaking now, not with fear but with the kind of rage that came from years of accumulated hurt finally finding a target. His eyes moved from Dad to Alaric to me, cataloging every face that had been part of keeping him in the dark.
“All these years,” he continued, voice cracking with emotion that made my chest ache. “All these fucking years, I thought I was going crazy. That there was something fundamentally wrong with me for feeling like this place had secrets I couldn't see.”
He stopped, taking a shuddering breath before continuing.
“Do you have any idea what it's like? Walking around feeling like everyone else got a manual for how things work here, and you're just supposed to figure it out on your own? Like there's some joke everyone's in on except you, but when you ask about it, people just smile and change the subject?”
“Nate,” I started, reaching toward him without thinking.
He jerked away from my touch like it burned, putting space between us that felt wider than the six years we'd spent apart.
“Don't,” he said, voice raw with betrayal. “Just don't. I can't - I need to think. I need to process this without you standing there looking at me like you give a damn when you've been lying to me our entire friendship.”
He was right. I had been lying to him, had built our entire friendship on a foundation of half-truths and careful omissions.
And now that foundation was crumbling, taking everything we'd built together down with it.
Nate turned toward the door, then stopped, looking back over his shoulder with eyes that held too much hurt to process.
“You know what the worst part is?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I came back here for you. Told myself it was about figuring out my life, about needing to come home, butreally? I came back because I missed you. Because six years wasn't long enough to get over whatever we had. And now I find out that the person I missed, the person I built up in my head as this perfect memory—he doesn't even exist. Because you're not human, are you, Evan? You're not the boy I thought I knew.”
“I'm still me,” I said desperately, taking a step toward him despite his earlier warning. “The wolf doesn't change who I am inside.”
Nate's laugh was bitter, empty of any humor.
“How would I know?” he asked. “When you've never shown me who you really are?”
Then he was gone, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows and leaving me standing in the wreckage of everything I'd tried so hard to protect.
My wolf was pacing restlessly beneath my skin, caught between the urge to chase after Nate and the knowledge that following him would only make things worse.
“Well,” Alaric said finally, voice carrying the kind of satisfaction that meant he'd gotten exactly what he'd hoped for out of this disaster. “That went about as well as expected.”
“Shut up,” I said without looking at him, all my attention focused on the door that Nate had walked through and might never walk through again.
“I'm just saying,” he continued, pushing off from the wall with lazy grace, “maybe next time you'll listen when people tell you that humans are nothing but trouble. They can't handle our world, can't understand the sacrifices we make to keep them safe. And when they find out the truth, they run.”
“He didn't run,” I said, finally turning to face him with my wolf bristling just beneath the surface. “He's processing. There's a difference.”
“Is there?” Alaric's smile was sharp, predatory. “Because from where I'm standing, it looks like he just confirmedeverything I've been saying about the risks of getting involved with outsiders. How long before he decides that discretion is the better part of valor and heads back to Chicago? How long before he starts talking to people who shouldn't know what they'll know?”
Alaric wasn't wrong about the risks. Bringing a human into pack business was dangerous under the best circumstances, and these were far from the best circumstances.
But the alternative—letting Nate walk away thinking I didn't care enough to trust him with the truth—had felt like a different kind of death.
“He won't talk,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.
“You sure about that?” Alaric asked. “Because your track record with predicting human behavior isn't exactly stellar.”
“Enough.”
The single word carried enough Alpha authority to make my wolf whimper and Alaric's smirk falter. When Dad used that tone, smart people listened and stupid people learned to be smart very quickly.
“Alaric, you'll go home and keep your opinions to yourself unless asked. This is pack business, and your input isn't required.” Dad's eyes moved to me, and I felt the weight of his judgment settle on my shoulders like a familiar burden. “Evan, you'll fix this. However you have to, whatever it takes. Your human is your responsibility now.”
