Page 40 of Easy, Tiger

I don't respond to Owen's text. Instead, I drive three miles deeper into the mountains, following the hidden access road that leads directly into enclave territory. The truck bounces over ruts and fallen branches until I reach a secluded clearing designated for council gatherings.

The council cabin sits tucked against a granite outcropping at the borderline of the enclave—a weathered structure that blends completely naturally against the rock face. Light glows behind blackout curtains, and familiar vehicles cluster in the shadows. Everyone is here waiting for me.

I heave open the heavy oak door to find twelve enclave members seated around a scarred wooden table. My father occupies the head chair, hands folded in front of him, patient as always. Owen sits at his right, ranger uniform replaced by civilian clothes. Sadie braces against the stone fireplace, arms crossed, eyes already flashing with protective anger. The others—ones who've spent lifetimes hiding their true nature—regard me with features ranging from concern to outright suspicion.

Dad inclines his head toward the empty chair across from him. "You called this meeting, Nolan. The floor is yours."

Staying standing feels necessary, driven by the need to meet every one of them in the eye. "Halsey's been researching historical migration patterns for her field guide. Today she found documented tiger sightings going back over a century, all following the same routes we've used for generations."

A stir moves through the room. Owen fills in the rest, his voice low and even. "She doesn't know what she's looking at yet. But she's close, and she's got a scientist's instinct for pattern recognition."

Bastan, one of the older shifters, slams his palm against the table. "I've seen the two of you together half a dozen times in town, Nolan, thick as thieves at Murphy's and the harvest dinner both. Half the enclave has commented on it. I told you this would happen the moment word spread you were courting a woman who spends her days cataloging wildlife for a living."

"She is noticing every detail," I interrupt. "She is connecting patterns that could expose everything we've worked to protect."

"Then she leaves." The voice belongs to Bess, a sixty-year-old woman whose family arrived with the original settlers. "Tonight. We arrange some emergency that requires her immediate departure."

"Absolutely not."

The room falls silent. I've never directly challenged the elders' authority, never spoken against consensus with such finality.

Bess's eyebrows arch toward her silver hairline. "Excuse me?"

"Halsey is far from a threat. She's curious about wildlife because that's her profession, but she has no idea what she's actually uncovered."

"Yet," Bastan adds. "But how long before curiosity becomes certainty?"

"She saved Nolan's life." Sadie pushes away from the fireplace, her voice cutting through the tension. "Found him bleeding out beside Willow Creek and spent hours keeping him alive. A threat doesn't risk everything to help wounded animals."

"A threat might, if it serves their larger purpose," Bess counters.

My chair scrapes against worn floorboards as I stand. "Halsey Gallagher lost her career defending scientific integrity. She came here to rebuild her life, not destroy ours. Every interaction we've had proves she values protecting wildlife over personal gain."

"Your judgment's compromised," Bastan says.

"My judgment is clearer than it's ever been. Halsey deserves the truth, not exile based on fear," I tell the room.

My father addresses us finally, and the room hushes to listen. "I've watched this young woman since she arrived. She mends what's broken and asks nothing in return. That's rarer than any of you seem to remember. Fear has kept us safe for a long time. It has also cost us things worth keeping."

A quiet lingers until Owen finally speaks. "The hunter's out there, Nolan. If Halsey's research leads him to our patterns⁠—"

"Then we deal with the hunter, not punish an innocent woman for being good at her job."

Dad prolongs the lull for a beat before he resumes. "Nolan has led this enclave's defense for three years without a single misstep. I trust his judgment now as I have before." He surveys the table, giving the others room to object. No one does, though the tension in the room doesn't fully break. "We watch and wait. We give him the chance to be right."

Bess gnaws at her cheek like she wants to argue further, but she bites her tongue at a silent warning from my father. One by one, chairs scrape against weathered floorboards as enclave members file out. Bess throws a final disapproving scowl my way before cinching her coat tight against the mountain chill. Bastan mutters something under his breath about "young fools and human complications" as he brushes past.

Sadie stops at the door, her entire frame softening with understanding. "For what it's worth, I think you're right about her."

"Thanks."

"Nolan, be careful. Not everyone will be as forgiving if this goes sideways."

The heavy oak door closes behind her, leaving Owen and me alone in the flickering candlelight. My cousin remains seated at the scarred table, his thick fingers drumming against the wood in a rhythm I recognize from childhood—the same pattern he'd tap when wrestling with difficult decisions.

"Well, that went about as well as expected," Owen says finally.

"Could have been worse. Bess didn't actually threaten exile."