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There were plenty of pack members who shared no blood connection. People were adopted. Shifters from broken packs were absorbed into healthier ones. Julie had joined us through her relationship with Mom, bringing her own history and an entire branch of connections that had nothing to do with the Blackwells.

Sloane could easily be one of those people.

I hoped she was.

Still, I needed evidence. Preferably evidence more reliable than Grandma Ruth saying, “Oh, she belongs to somebody.”

I started with Mom the following morning.

She was at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and reading the county planning documents about Millstone Wildlife Park. The pages were covered in notes, underlined, and several comments that would not have been appropriate to submit to the zoning board. Luckily, the preliminary hearing a week ago had gone well, and it had been agreed to allow nearby residents to gather their thoughts to present at an upcoming meeting.

Julie sat at the table, painting her nails a pale pink that matched her robe. Caldwell ate toast beside her while drawing a wolf in the margin of an old grocery list.

I opened the refrigerator, mostly so I had something to do with my hands. “Do you know how Sloane is related to us?”

Mom didn’t look up. “Loany?”

I paused with one hand on the refrigerator door. “Yeah.”

She lifted her head slowly, eyes narrowing with recognition. “Why?”

“No reason,” I lied.

Julie stopped painting and twisted the cap back onto the nail polish bottle.

Mom lowered the documents. “That answer only gives me more questions.”

“I’m just trying to understand the family tree.”

She raised one eyebrow.

Julie blew lightly across her nails, a smirk playing on her lips. “Interesting.”

Ignoring her, I took out a carton of eggs I had no immediate plans to cook.

Mom studied me for another few seconds. “I don’t think she’s blood.”

Relief moved through me too quickly to trust. “You don’t think?”

“She isn’t a Blackwell.”

I closed the refrigerator door. “That doesn’t mean she isn’t related through the Carpenters or Kipners.”

“She’s not a Kipner,” Julie said.

“How do you know?”

“Your Aunt Karen would have claimed her.”

That was a fair point. Aunt Karen treated blood relations as both social currency and evidence of personal responsibility. If Sloane belonged to her branch, Karen would have mentioned it repeatedly, especially when Sloane corrected the garage sale flyer.

“What about the Carpenters?” I asked.

Mom returned her attention to the documents. “Maybe through Millie.”

“Great-aunt Millie?” I asked.

“Possibly.”