She’s holding something back.Not from me exactly.Fromus.
The pack settles into evening the way it always does, slow and familiar.Firelight.Food passed hand to hand.Laughter rising and falling like breath.It’s the kind of normal that used to feel permanent.Before the fucking Hunters came and turned our world upside down, before we started on our rescue missions, before the world reminded us that survival is an active choice.
Trinity sits beside me on the log bench, her shoulder brushing mine.She eats, listens, and even laughs,reallylaughs, once when Talon tells a story about Calum getting his ass handed to him by a half-starved leopard shifter during a rescue run.
But she’s not here.
Her eyes keep drifting to the tree line.Her body is coiled, ready in a way that has nothing to do with threat and everything to do with anticipation, like she’s waiting for something only she can hear.
I don’t push.Not because I don’t want answers, but because I know the cost of forcing them.
Max drops down on the other side of the fire, gaze flicking between Trinity and the shadows beyond the compound.He frowns faintly, then looks at me.
Something’s wrong.I give a barely perceptible nod.I know but I don’t have information he needs.
Soon enough, when the food is finished and the fire burns low, wolves drift off in pairs or small groups, Trinity remains seated, hands clasped tightly in her lap.Her scent is sharp now, anxiety edged with resolve.
“Do you want to walk?”I ask quietly.
She startles, then nods.“Yeah.That’d be good.”
We take the long path around the compound, skirting the outer cabins and storage sheds, staying well within the boundary line.I’m careful not to angle us toward the tree line, not to give her the impression that I’m herding her anywhere.
She walks fast, like she’s trying to outrun her own thoughts.
“You were different tonight,” I say after a while.
She exhales sharply.“I’m always different.”
I glance at her.“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Silence stretches and I stop walking.
She takes two more steps before she realizes and turns back, frustration flashing across her face like a shield she’s learned to raise quickly.
“What?”she asks.“Are you going to tell me I smell wrong?That I’m distracted?That I’m a liability?”
“No,” I say calmly.“I’m going to tell you that you don’t have to be perfect to stay.”
Her shoulders sag a fraction.“That’s not how packs work.”
“That’s howthispack works.”
She looks away.“You can’t promise that.”
“I already have.”
The bond hums between us, warm and insistent, like it’s backing me up.
Trinity swallows.“You don’t know everything about me.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she snaps.“You’ve never been cast out for something you can’t change.”
My jaw tightens.“You think I haven’t?”I ask quietly.
She hesitates, then shakes her head.“You’re Katu.You belong here.”
