Now for ice.
I moved to the large stainless steel refrigerator, pulling it open with determination. The inside was packed with food—containers labeled in neat handwriting, fresh vegetables, gallons of milk, cartons of eggs. My stomach growled reflexively at the sight of so much food in one place, but I pushed the feeling aside.
Focus. Ice.
I frowned, searching the freezer compartment before realizing there wasn't one. Just this massive refrigerator with no freezer section.
"The freezer's in the pantry," Rooster said, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Big chest freezer at the back."
I nodded and headed for the door he pointed to, pulling it open to reveal a walk-in pantry larger than any room I'd slept in for years. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with canned goods, dry pasta, rice, beans, flour, sugar—enough food to feed an army. Or survive an apocalypse.
My eyes widened as I took in the sheer abundance. I couldn't help cataloguing it all, the survival part of my brain automatically calculating how long such supplies could last.
At the back, just as Rooster had said, stood an enormous chest freezer. I lifted the lid to find it packed with frozen meats, vegetables, and containers of prepared meals. And ice. Plenty of ice.
I filled a plastic bag with ice cubes, wrapped it in the dish towel, and returned to Rooster. He hadn't moved from his chair, his eyes slightly unfocused in a way that worried me. Concussions were serious. I'd seen people die from head injuries that didn't look much worse than his.
Carefully, I placed the makeshift ice pack against the side of his head, positioning it to cover the worst of the swelling without pressing on the stitches.
"Thanks, kid," he murmured, reaching up to hold the ice pack in place.
I stepped back, observing him critically. The ice would help with the swelling, but it wouldn't fix the concussion. There was a faster way to heal, and we both knew it.
Why wasn't he shifting?
All shifters knew that transforming accelerated healing. Injuries that might take weeks to heal in human form could mend in days or even hours after a shift. The more time spent in animal form, the faster the healing.
I frowned, trying to figure out how to communicate this without speaking. Words were hard for me on the best days, and today had been far from the best.
I pointed at him, then made a transforming gesture with my hands.
Rooster's brow furrowed in confusion. "What is it, Liam? You need something else?"
I growled in frustration, an animal sound that slipped out before I could stop it. I tried again, pantomiming shifting, but he just looked more confused.
"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," he said gently.
I looked around and spotted a notepad and pen on the counter. Grabbing them, I quickly sketched a stick figure, then an arrow, then a rough bear. I held it up, pointing insistently.
Rooster squinted at my drawing. "You... want to see a bear?"
I shook my head, adding another arrow from the bear back to the human, then circling the whole sequence.
"A transformation? You know about shifters?" His eyes widened slightly. "Have you seen one of us shift before?"
I wanted to scream. He wasn't getting it. I jabbed my finger at him, then at the drawing, then at his injury.
"You think I should shift?" he asked finally, understanding dawning. "To heal faster?"
I nodded emphatically, relief washing through me.
"I can't, kid. Not with you here. We don't—" he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We don't reveal ourselves to humans. It's our most important rule."
So that was it. He thought I was human. He was protecting his secret, not realizing I already knew because I shared it.
I stared at him for a long moment, weighing my options. Revealing myself was a risk—the biggest I'd taken in years. But watching him suffer needlessly from an injury he'd received while protecting his family... it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
Decision made, I stepped back from him, creating space between us and the kitchen table.
