Michael's gaze tracked to Rafe, still crouched beside Emmy, now helping her apply an actual bandage that Theo had retrieved along with the water. Lily and Sam had gathered around too, watching with the solemn attention children gave to interesting injuries.
“He's good with them,” Michael said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then: “Nate used to scrape his knee all the time when he was little. Always running too fast, climbing things he shouldn't. Anna would patch him up, and he'd be right back at it ten minutes later. Drove her crazy.”
“Kids are resilient.”
“They are. But they're also mirrors.” Michael watched Emmy tentatively flex her knee, testing the bandage. “They show you what people are really like. Can't hide from children. They see through bullshit like it's glass.”
“And what do you see? When you look at Rafe with them?”
Michael was silent for a long moment. Emmy had apparently decided her wound was sufficiently impressive and was now showing it off to the other cubs with pride. Rafe stood slowly, brushing dirt from his knees, and caught us watching.
For just a second, something flickered in his expression. Wariness, maybe. Or calculation. The look of someone who'd been observed when they thought they were unguarded.
Then it was gone, replaced by that easy smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“I see someone who lost something precious,” Michael said finally.
Rafe crossed the meadow toward us, dandelion crown still perched on his head, and his smile was warm and open and revealed absolutely nothing.
“Daniel. Michael.” He nodded at each of us, perfectly polite. “I didn't realize it was so late. I should probably help with the afternoon patrol?—”
“The crown suits you,” I said.
He blinked, hand rising to touch the crushed flowers like he'd forgotten they were there. “Oh. Right. Theo's protection magic.” His laugh was self-deprecating. “I must look ridiculous.”
“You look like someone the cubs have claimed,” Michael said.
Something shifted in Rafe's expression. Just for a moment, before he got it under control. Surprise, maybe. Or longing. The look of someone offered something they wanted badly and were afraid to reach for.
“They're good kids,” he said again, and his voice was rough. “You're lucky to have them.”
“We know.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy with things unsaid. The cubs had moved on to a new game, their shrieks and laughter filling the meadow. The afternoon sun was warm, the sky impossibly blue, and somewhere in the distance I could hear wolves running in the forest.
“Thank you,” Rafe said finally. “For letting me stay. For letting me be part of this, even temporarily.” He met my eyes, and for once there was no charm in his expression. No manipulation. Just something that looked almost like honesty. “I know you don't trust me. I know the pack doesn't trust me. But this—” He gestured at the meadow, at the cubs, at the ordinary magic of a peaceful afternoon. “This is more than I expected. More than I probably deserve.”
“Everyone deserves peace,” Michael said quietly. “Even strays.”
“Do they?” Rafe's smile was sad. “In my experience, strays get what they can take and not a bit more. Kindness is a luxury most of us can't afford.”
“Maybe that was true before,” I said. “Maybe that's what your old life taught you. But you're not there anymore. You're here. And here, we take care of our own.”
“Even if I'm not yours?”
The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been. I looked at him, this wounded stranger who'd bled onto our border, who'd charmed his way into our space, who played with our cubs like they were precious and might break if handled too roughly.
“That depends,” I said slowly, “on whether you want to be.”
Rafe was quiet for a long moment. The dandelion crown slipped slightly, petals falling into his hair like scattered gold. The cubs shrieked in the background. The sun shone down on all of us, warm and impartial.
“I don't know what I want anymore,” he said finally. “I used to think I knew. Survival. Safety. A place where I didn't have to keep running.” He looked at the cubs, at the pack house rising solid and real in the distance, at the forest that hummed with magic I could feel pressing against my skin. “But now I'm here, and it's more than I imagined, and I don't know if I'm allowed to want it. Don't know if I'm allowed to belong.”
“You don't need permission to belong,” Michael said. “You just need to choose it. Show up every day. Be there when people need you. Earn it.”
