“I know, Rook.”
He falls quiet. Behind us, Sienna steps out of the third truck and stops dead when she sees the settlement. Briar lands beside her. Even Dane, who doesn’t react to much, stands for a long second before he turns his back and starts unloading the supply crates I’d picked up on the trip in anticipation of what we’d find.
Dane’s always been that way. See a problem. Fix the part you can reach. Don’t ask questions.
I’m about to cross the yard when the crowd around Cameron parts and she comes through.
Young. Mid-twenties, maybe. Dark auburn hair pulled back tight, moving with the coiled alertness of a wolf who’s been running on threat assessment for so long it’s become her resting state. Lean and wiry, built for speed, and she carries herself like she’s the one holding this whole thing together by her fingernails.
She probably is.
She stops ten feet from me. Sharp amber eyes take my measure—boots to face, truck to pack, the whole picture—in about three seconds flat.
“Merric Rourke.” It’s less of a greeting and more of an identification. Like she’s confirming a target. “We heard you were on your way.”
News travels fast.
“That’s right,” I confirm.
“I’m Willow Corvus. I run things here.”
Corvus. She’d be related to Brenna.
“I can see that,” I say.
Wrong answer. Her chin comes up a notch. “Can you? So you can see the collapsed barn and the busted fences and the wolves eating rice and squirrel because nobody in the whole goddamn southern wolf community could be bothered to pick up a phone.”
I open my mouth. Behind her, the old woman looks up from Cameron and locks on me.
“I see all of it,” I say. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you had to bring Cameron back. Don’t dress it up as something noble.” She takes a step closer. She’s a full foot shorter than me, and it doesn’t matter one bit. “My aunt trusted you. She said you were different from the other alphas. That you’d come through when it counted.” Her voice drops. “She died waiting for that to be true.”
That lands. She means it to.
My wolf wants to bristle. I hold him back. This woman has earned the right to take shots at me. Every hollow face in this yard has earned it.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m late. I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now, and I brought people who know how to work. Whatever you need, we’ll do.”
She eyes me for a long time. Not deciding whether to trust me; she’s already decided she doesn’t. She’s deciding whether my usefulness outweighs the risk of letting a Frostbourne alpha onto her territory.
“Sienna,” I say, without turning around. “What’d we bring?”
Sienna’s already at the tailgate. “Three weeks of dry goods, canned protein, medical kit, two generators, fuel, tools, and lumber. Plus whatever Dane’s got in his truck, which, knowing Dane, is ammunition and more lumber.”
“Also rope,” Dane says from somewhere behind me. “Lots of rope.”
Willow glances past me at the supplies. At Sienna looking on calmly. At Dane already hauling a crate on his shoulder toward the collapsed barn like he’s lived here his whole life. At Briar, who has somehow already disappeared into the forest, doing what Briar does, which is making sure the place is secure.
The hostility doesn’t leave her face, but something underneath it gives. Just a fraction. The faintest crack, and beneath it, something close to exhaustion. She’s been carrying this place. All of it. Every mouth to feed, every wall to patch, every night watch to cover. And now five strangers just showed up, offering help, and she’s not sure she can take it.
She needs to.
“The bunkhouse has empty rooms,” she says. “Roof leaks in the south end, so take the north. Water pump works but the pressure’s garbage. Breakfast is at six. We eat together. Don’t waste food.” She looks at me directly. “And if any of your people disrespect mine—their traditions, their magic, any of it—I’ll put them off the property myself. Alpha or no alpha.”
“Fair,” I say.
“It’s not fair. It’s the bare goddamn minimum.” She turns and walks back to Cameron, who’s been watching the whole exchange with a tense look that tells me he wasn’t sure this would go well. She puts her hand on his arm—gentle, automatic, the touch of someone who’s been anchoring this boy for years—and steers him toward the house.
