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“And you’re willing to just… wait? Indefinitely?”

I look at her across the darkness. “I’ve spent my whole life building things worth having. I'm not interested in settling for something that isn’t.” I hold her gaze. “Some things are worth the wait, Mia.”

An owl’s call breaks the silence.

She looks away first. Down at the route below, or at least pretending to.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“You were going to say something.”

“I was going to say it’s romantic and slightly impractical and leave it at that.”

“But?”

A pause. “But I also think it takes a particular kind of faith to wait for something you can’t guarantee will ever come.” She says it quietly, like an admission she didn’t intend to make out loud. “I'm not sure I have that kind of faith in anything.”

I let that sit. Don’t push for more.

After a moment, I ask, “What about you?”

She looks up, brows furrowed.

“A mate,” I say. “Have you thought about one that’s not fated?”

Something shifts behind her eyes—a door starting to close—before she catches herself and lets something lighter take its place instead. “I’m not sure a chosen mate could handle me, honestly.” A small smile. Deflecting. “Can you imagine? The poor man.”

“Devastating,” I agree. “The smartass responses. The impossible standards. The Italian profanity.”

“Exactly.” She gestures broadly. “It would be a lot.”

“It would be everything,” I say.

The teasing in her expression falters.

“Nash—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m not fishing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Telling you the truth.” I lean forward slightly, forearms on my knees, and look at her across the low fire. “I’m hooked on you. I don’t entirely understand it. You’re not—” I pause, choosing carefully. “The connection I feel with you doesn’t follow the rules. My wolf doesn’t have a clear explanation for it. But I’ve stopped needing one.”

She’s not moving.

“I’m trying to be patient,” I continue. “Deliberately. Because I know patience is the only language you trust. But I want you to know that it’s not absence of feeling. It’s the opposite.”

The moon throws soft light across her face. Her hair hangs loose and wild around her shoulders, and her eyes are the particular shade of green they go when her wolf is close to the surface.

“You’re very—” She stops.

“What?”

“Certain," she says. “About me.”

“Yes.”