I ignored the warmth that crept up my neck.
Donnie leaned back in his chair. “I still say the relief area near the parking lot is the best. Smaller space, sure, but my girl likes the fresh air.”
“She just likes sniffing everything,” Sheila shot back.
“That too.”
Sheila turned to us. “You should join us sometime, Peter.”
Donnie leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s usually just a small group. Mostly us shifters.” He gestured between himself and Sheila. “Early mornings. Less traffic, you know?”
I understood immediately. This was the first major event to openly invite shifter handlers. Not everyone was thrilled.
Most humans were polite, but some were still wary. Donnie and Sheila clearly didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable or draw attention, so they’d found a small, safe corner for training.
I nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
“But sometimes Harold joins too,” Donnie added in his normal voice. Then he leaned in again, lowering his voice. “He’s human, but he doesn’t mind training with us shifters.”
Then Donnie leaned sideways and shouted down the table, “Harold! We seeing you tomorrow morning?”
Harold blinked, clearly pulled out of another conversation. “What was that?”
Donnie waved him off dramatically. “Never mind!”
Harold just chuckled and returned to his discussion. The table relaxed again, conversations splintering into smaller threads.
I glanced at Chris. A quiet amusement flickered across his face as he watched Donnie.
A familiar warmth curled in my chest, and I forced myself to look away before he noticed. I let my gaze drift around the room, taking it all in.
Around us, someone argued over start-line routines while another handler silently replayed a missed contact.
Glasses clinked, cutlery scraped, and the soft murmur of conversation wove through the room.
I stared at the condensation sliding down my glass and felt it settle into place. Leaving now just wouldn’t sit right.
It would be easy. We could tell Cooper we’d done our part and leave first thing in the morning. But the whole thing still felt unfinished.
I nudged Chris lightly under the table.
He turned toward me immediately. “Yeah?”
“I want to stay,” I said quietly.
His expression shifted, sharpening just a little. “For finals?” He studied my face. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Chris’s fingers brushed the edge of the table near mine, not quite touching.
“I keep thinking,” I added quietly, “if there’s more to it, I’d rather know. Make sure it’s actually done.”
It was only a couple more days anyway. Even a small chance that something else was off, I didn’t want to walk away and later find out another dog had been hurt because we’d decided it wasn’t our problem anymore.
I could, technically, send Chris on ahead with Pampi. Take up Cooper’s initial offer and tap out any time I wanted, letting someone else from the pack step in for finals. Chris could handle it.
But the mere thought of another wolf beside him, standing shoulder to shoulder at the start line, made a faint, irrational tension flare low in my gut.
