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The words land somewhere he was never supposed to have access to.

“Nash—”

“I'm not asking you to trust me because I say so,” he continues. "I'm asking for the chance to show you the difference.” He holds my gaze. “That’s all. Just the chance.”

I look at my plate.

This is the problem, I think. This right here. He doesn’t push. He just shows up, proving himself, and then waits.

And I don’t know what to do with a man who does that. My entire defensive architecture was built to withstand men who think they’re entitled to a woman. I have no fortifications against one who simply offers.

“Eat your rabbit,” I say finally.

He smiles. Looks back at his plate. Like he knows he made headway in whatever ground assault he’s quietly waging on my defenses.

And somehow that’s worse than if he’d pushed.

We split up for the morning patrol as planned. I take the eastern ridge, he takes the western, and we agree to meet back at camp for midday. I opt to patrol in wolf form and spend the next three hours alone in the trees doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing: searching for tracks, checking the supply route from different angles, noting the places where Ramsey’s wolves would logically cache supplies if they were still using this area.

I find nothing.

What I do find, approximately forty minutes in, is that, without Nash nearby, instead of feeling more like myself again, I feel off balance.

You miss him, my wolf observes.

I do not.

You've checked the direction of camp four times.

That’s situational awareness.

You’re adorable.

Go chase a squirrel.

Nash is already at camp when I return, both of us back in human form. He’s built the fire back up and has water heating in a small pot. He looks up when I come through the tree line, and my heart gives a little triple-beat rhythm at the sight of his handsome face. Something in my stomach flutters.

Hunger, I tell myself.

“Anything?” he asks.

“Nothing. You?”

“Nothing.” He hands me a cup of hot water and a packet of something that turns out to be decent tea. “Told you it might take a few days.”

“You were right.”

“I’m going to need you to say that again.”

“I will absolutely not.”

He grins. I drink my tea.

Echo materializes from somewhere in the canopy above us and drops directly onto Nash’s shoulder with a thump that would have startled most people. Nash doesn’t flinch. Just reaches up and lets Echo sniff his hand.

“He’s accepted you,” I say.

“I’m honored.”