“Do I?” I looked at him. At the exhaustion carved into every line of his face, the weight of leadership crushing him, the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “Because it feels like I'm standing in a room full of people speaking a language I'm still learning, and I keep catching every third word and hoping I don't miss the important ones.”
Daniel's hand tightened on my arm. Not demanding. Grounding.
“The important words are these,” he said. “Pack protects pack. You're pack, Michael. Whatever Luke thinks, whatever anyone thinks. You're pack.”
Something cracked in my chest. Something that had been holding itself together with stubbornness and denial and the absolute refusal to fall apart until I had the luxury of falling apart alone.
“Daniel—”
“I mean it.” His eyes held mine. “You don't have to earn your place here. You have it. You've had it since you stood over Anna's body and didn't run. Since you looked at a world full of monsters and decided to fight instead of hide.”
I didn't have words for that. So I just nodded. And when his hand finally dropped from my arm, I felt the absence like a phantom limb.
“Go,” Daniel said. “Do something normal for a few hours. I'll send someone to check on you later.”
“I don't need a babysitter.”
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Call it a concerned boyfriend, then. Wolves are allowed to have those.”
The driveto the old house took fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes of silence and the hum of the truck engine and my thoughts spinning in circles that never quite reached a conclusion. By the time I pulled into the driveway, some of the tension in my shoulders had eased. Not much. But enough.
The house looked better than it had six months ago. New windows, new door, fresh paint covering the places where blood had soaked into wood. But standing in front of it still felt like standing in front of a grave. Like something lived inside that remembered what had happened here and was waiting to see if I was brave enough to come inside.
I grabbed my tool bag from the bed of the truck and headed for the front door.
The interior smelled like sawdust and paint. Fresh. Clean. The smell of work being done, of damage being repaired, of something broken being slowly put back together.
But underneath that, if I breathed deep enough, I could still smell her.
Anna's perfume. Faint now, fading more every day, but still there. Lingering in the fabric of the house like a ghost that wasn't ready to leave.
I stood in the living room for a long moment. Just breathing. Letting the memories wash over me without trying to push them away.
This was where we'd planned to grow old. This was where we'd imagined grandchildren running through the halls, holiday dinners that lasted until midnight, lazy Sunday mornings with coffee and crossword puzzles. This was supposed to be our forever home.
Now it was just me. Putting up drywall. Trying to rebuild something that could never be what it was supposed to be.
I was wrist-deep in trim installation when I heard the truck pull up outside.
Footsteps on the porch. Two sets. One heavy and purposeful, one lighter and more hesitant.
The door opened, and Jonah stuck his head inside. His usual grin was back in place, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Knock knock. Babysitter brigade has arrived.”
“I told Daniel I didn't need?—”
“Yeah, but Daniel doesn't listen, and neither do I. It's a family trait.” Jonah stepped inside, followed by a young woman I recognized from the pack house. Sienna. The youngest wolf, all nervous energy and desperate eagerness to prove herself. “Besides, I come bearing gifts.”
He held up a six-pack of beer and a bag that smelled like burgers from the diner on Main Street.
“Bribery,” I said. “Nice.”
“I prefer 'strategic friendship cultivation.' Sounds classier.” Jonah set the food on the counter, started unpacking. “You've been at this for, what, six hours? You haven't eaten. Probably haven't had water either. Very contractor cliché of you.”
“I've been busy.”
