I let the words sit. Let them settle like something I’d been waiting to hear.
Finally, I nodded. “Okay.”
Nate’s face lit up, relief pouring through him so fast it almost broke my heart. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said again, firmer this time. “I’ll go today.”
He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. Then, because he was Nate, he had to ruin the moment withhumor. “Good. Because if you say no, I’m going to start leaving pamphlets around your house.”
“Pamphlets about what?”
“Grief. Community. Healthy coping mechanisms.” He made a face. “Maybe a yoga class. Something humiliating.”
I laughed, surprised by how much I needed the sound. “You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would,” he said, dead serious, then he grinned. “I’m a wolf now. I have no morals.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It is for me.”
I lifted the pads again. “One more round.”
Nate’s grin sharpened. “Thought you’d never ask.”
He climbed back into the ring and rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off the weight of the conversation. Like he’d done what he came here to do: make sure I was still in the world with him.
“Remember,” I warned, raising the pads. “Control.”
Nate’s eyes flashed gold. “Yes, Dad.”
He hit me hard enough to make my arms sting and my teeth rattle.
It hurt.
It was perfect.
It was exactly what I needed.
The Callahan LumberMill sat on the eastern edge of Hollow Pines like something organic, like it had grown from the forest itself rather than being built against it. Weathered wood and corrugated metal, sawdust thick in the air, the smell of fresh-cut pine so strong it made my eyes water from the parking lot.
I'd driven past it a hundred times since moving to Hollow Pines. Never actually stopped.
Today, I parked next to Daniel's truck and sat there for a minute, hands on the wheel, trying to remember why I'd thought this was a good idea. Taking a job from the Alpha of a werewolf pack. Inserting myself deeper into a world I'd never asked to be part of.
But Nate was right. I needed something to do. Needed something to fill the hours that stretched endless and empty between waking and sleeping.
And maybe, if I was being honest with myself, I needed to see Daniel again.
The thought made me uncomfortable in ways I didn't want to examine.
I got out of the truck.
The mill floor was chaos and rhythm all at once. Saws screaming through wood, machinery grinding, workers shouting to be heard over the noise. Everyone moved with practiced ease that came from doing the same thing day after day until it became muscle memory.
Daniel stood near the main saw, talking to an older worker with gray hair and hands that looked like they'd been shaped by decades of hard labor. His back was to me, but I could see the way he held himself. Relaxed in a way I hadn't seen before. At home.
He turned before I could announce myself. Caught my eye across the mill floor, and something in his expression shifted. Warmed.
