*Sage*
Kim showed up at my tower two days after Hollow Creek.
I saw her truck first—white with the FWS logo, crunching up the icy access road in low gear, tires spinning a little on the steeper parts.
Then her, climbing the ladder with the kind of practiced ease that said she’d done this a hundred times before even if she hated it every single one.
I sat cross-legged on the plywood floor, notebook open, binocs shoved aside, watching the approach of Pack A along the distant tree line.
They moved slower now.
Less carefree.
More…alert.
Kieran had pulled them back from the lower pastures entirely after the attack.
They stayed higher, closer to the heart of our shared territory, ghosts on ridges.
As Kim’s head cleared the floor, I pushed my glasses up onto my hair and tried to look…normal.
She swung herself onto the platform with a grunt and flopped against the railing, breathing hard.
“Remind me why we didn’t build you an elevator,” she panted.
“Budget cuts,” I said.
She snorted.
Silence settled for a beat.
She took in the notebooks.
The thermos.
The extra jacket thrown in the corner.
The faint smell of smoke still clinging to the wood from the last time Kieran had stood here in fur.
“You’ve been busy,” she said.
“Occupational hazard,” I said.
She shot me a look.
“We need to talk,” she said.
My stomach did a slow, queasy flip.
“I figured,” I said.
She stepped closer, bracing her hands on the railing, looking out over the valley.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything.
“Pretty,” she said finally.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know, when I signed off on this project, I thought I was giving a smart, stubborn young scientist a chance to build her dream dataset,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was handing her the keys to a powder keg and a box of matches.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I said.
She laughed without humor.
“No,” she said. “But you did. At least…more than you told me.”
Guilt pricked under my skin.
“What do you think you know?” I asked carefully.
She turned.
Looked at me.
“Let’s start with the basics,” she said. “Your wolves aren’t behaving like they should.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“They move like they’re avoiding something that isn’t us,” she said. “They’re clustered tighter. Their territory’s shrunk. They’re not ranging as far. That spooked kill at Hollow? They were *pushed* there. By something already on the carcass.”
She ticked points off on her fingers.
“Then there’s the bone tree, which is either a very elaborate art project or something…older. The way the air feels around it. The way the dogs won’t go near it. The way the kids swear they hear…whispers.”
I swallowed.
“And then,” she said, “there’s the wolf that got up and ran after we shot it through the throat.”
I shut my eyes briefly.
“And you,” she added softly. “This…version of you. The one who lies smoothly, thinks fast, makes fire appear at just the right moment to cover…other things.”
The wind rattled the tower.
Goosebumps prickled along my arms unrelated to the cold.
“You’re not stupid, Sage,” she said. “You’re also not a good liar. Not with me. I’ve known you too long. I can hear the wobble in your voice. See where you put your eyes. Smell when you’re scared.”
I flinched.
“Smell?” I echoed.
She smiled faintly. “You forgot you told me that,” she said. “About scent. About how anxiety smells metallic. How arousal smells different from fear. I pay attention when my people talk to me. Even when they nerd out.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“Kim,” I said. “I—”
She held up a hand.
“I’m not asking you for the whole truth,” she said. “I’m not sure I want it. I am asking you for…enough.”
She met my gaze.
“Are we dealing with something beyond…wolves?” she asked quietly. “Yes or no.”
My lungs forgot how to work.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Her jaw tightened.
“I thought so,” she said.
“Don’t—” I started.
“Ask what?” she cut in. “If it’s some government experiment gone wrong? If you’ve been sitting on Bigfoot DNA? If there’s a cult in my valley sacrificing goats under the full moon?”
I almost laughed.
“None of those,” I said.
“Something…else,” she said.
“Yes,” I said again.
She sighed.
Leaning back against the rail, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You know, most people would be thrilled to find out magic is real,” she said. “Or whatever this is. They’d write books. Go on talk shows. Start religions.”
“I’m not…most people,” I said.
“Thank God,” she muttered.
She dropped her hand.
“Here’s my problem,” she said. “As your boss—and as someone who, for some reason, gives a shit about you—I am now aware that there is…something else in my management area. Something that can get up after being shot. Something that can make seasoned rangers doubt their eyes. Something that *you* are tangled up with.”
She took a breath.
“Legally, ethically, bureaucratically, I should report that,” she said. “Kick it up the chain. Let the people with bigger pay grades and smaller imaginations deal with it.”
Ice slid down my spine.
“If you do that…” I started.
“I know,” she cut in. “They’ll descend on this place like vultures. Helicopters. Drones. Guns. White coats. They’ll scare everything into hiding or kill it trying to catch it.”
A shudder went through her.
“I’ve seen what happens when the feds smell…anomaly,” she said. “It’s not pretty.”
Silence stretched.
“So,” I said cautiously. “What are you going to do?”
She looked old, suddenly.
Tired in her bones.
“Nothing,” she said.
My heart pounded. “What?”
“I am going to do…nothing,” she repeated. “Officially. Unofficially, I’m going to keep doing what I’ve been doing—managing humans. Smoothing reports. Pointing attention where it can’t do too much damage. And I’m going to trust *you* to manage…whatever the hell this is on your end.”
Relief and terror crashed through me in equal measure.
“Kim, that’s—” I began.
“Stupid? Reckless? A dereliction of duty?” she supplied. “Pick your poison. I know. But tell me this, Sage—who else can I trust with this? Some guy in D.C. who thinks all wolves should be behind glass? A field agent whose first instinct is to shoot first and dissect later? At least you…care. About them. About this place. About…something bigger than your own career.”
My eyes burned.
“What if I fuck it up?” I asked.
“You will,” she said bluntly. “You already have. We all have. That’s not the point. The point is…you’ll try. To do less harm than good.”
She stepped closer.
Put a hand on my shoulder.
Her grip was firm.
Warm.
“Here’s the line,” she said quietly. “If this…whatever…starts hurting people. Really hurting. If Peters dies. If Tyler doesn’t wake up right. If kids go missing. If we start seeing bodies in the snow that *aren’t* animal—then I call it in. No questions. No hesitations. I flip every alarm I have and let the machine roll.”
I swallowed.
“Fair,” I said hoarsely.
“Until then,” she said, “we dance. We buy time. We tell stories. You build your bone tree. I bury inconvenient data. We hope like hell that when this breaks, it breaks…gently.”
Tears spilled over.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why are you…doing this? For me. For…them.”
She smiled, weary and fond.
“Because once upon a time,” she said, “I was you. Twenty-three, fresh out of grad school, convinced I could hug the world into being better. I watched an older generation slam doors because they were afraid. I swore I’d do better. I don’t know if this *is* better. But it’s…different.”
She squeezed my shoulder.
“And because,” she added, softer, “when someone like you says ‘trust me,’ I…do. Until you give me a reason not to.”
“I lied to you,” I said, voice breaking. “I keep lying to you.”
“You’re…editing,” she said. “There’s a difference. I’m…allowing it. That’s on me, not you.”
“I hate it,” I said. “I hate that I can’t just—”
“Tell me everything?” she said. “Look me in the eye and say ‘there are people who turn into wolves in our woods and I’m banging their leader’ and have me nod and say ‘sure, sounds legit’?”
I choked.
“I’m not—” I started.
“You think I don’t see it?” she snorted. “The way you…glow when you talk about ‘your’ pack. The way you smell after you come back from the valley now. I don’t need details. I’m not your priest. Just…be careful. With your heart. With your body. With your work.”
“I’m trying,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“I know,” she said.
She turned back to the valley.
For a moment, we stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the snow.
A hawk wheeled far below.
Wolves moved like shadows along the tree line.
“If I asked you,” she said slowly, “to leave. To walk away. For your safety. For…everyone’s. Would you?”
The answer rose up in me so fast it broke my heart.
“No,” I said.
She nodded, like she’d expected that.
“Then I won’t ask,” she said.
She stepped away.
Climbed back down the ladder.
Halfway, she paused.
Looked up.
“One season,” she said. “That’s what you asked for. That’s what I’m giving you. Make it count.”
“I will,” I said.
She nodded once.
Then she was gone.
***
That night, I told Kieran everything.
He sat on the edge of the pallet, elbows on his knees, listening as I recounted Kim’s visit, her questions, her choice to…not choose.
“She knows more than she admits,” he said when I finished. “Or at least…suspects.”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s not…blind. Or dumb.”
“And she still chose to…look away,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “For now.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I don’t like that we’re asking her to do that,” he said. “Feels…wrong.”
“It is wrong,” I said. “On about ten different ethical levels. But the alternative is…worse.”
He nodded grudgingly.
“She set a line,” I said. “Bodies. Kids. Humans harmed beyond what we can…spin. If we cross it, she goes nuclear.”
“She should,” he said. “If we let it get that bad, we deserve the fallout.”
I swallowed.
Silence pressed in.
“So,” he said finally. “We have a season.”
“Yes,” I said. “Less, really. Winter moves fast up here.”
“A season to…defuse Cassian,” he said. “To keep Kurt from going full vigilante. To teach your town to live with ghosts.”
“And to figure out…us,” I added.
His gaze flicked to me.
“Yes,” he said. “That too.”
We looked at each other.
The word *later* hung in the air like smoke.
“We should make a list,” I said suddenly.
He blinked. “A list.”
“Of things we need to do,” I said. “To make this…work. Wolves. Humans. Us. Before Kim’s countdown hits zero and she unleashes the bureaucratic Kraken.”
“Bureaucratic…what,” he asked.
“Never mind,” I said. “Top of the list: keep humans and wolves from killing each other. Second: make sure Northridge doesn’t eat anyone important. Third: therapy.”
He snorted. “Therapy?”
“Yes,” I said. “Not…official. Obviously. But we need to…talk. About what happened with Isandro. With Levi. About what you’re carrying. What I’m carrying. Or we’re going to bleed all over each other.”
His expression softened.
“Who therapizes the therapist?” he asked.
“Each other,” I said. “In bed. Later.”
His pupils dilated.
“Sage,” he warned.
I smiled, slow.
“Fourth,” I said. “We…carve out…space. For us. That isn’t strategy sessions or crisis management. Little pockets. Ten minutes. An hour. To be…people. Not just Alpha and Biologist and Bridge and Prophecy Puppet.”
He huffed.
“You think we can find ten minutes without someone howling for help?” he asked.
“We make them,” I said. “You tell Rafe ‘hold the line, I’m on a date.’ He’ll cover you. Maybe.”
“He’ll definitely mock me,” Kieran said.
“Let him,” I said. “Mocking means breathing.”
“Fifth,” he said slowly, picking up the thread. “We…don’t make promises we can’t keep. To each other. To Kim. To the pack. To Cassian.”
I nodded.
“Sixth,” I added. “We…figure out what this is. Bond. Thread. Love. Whatever. And we…name it. For us. So other people’s stories can’t tell it for us.”
His breath caught.
“We can do that?” he asked.
“Why not?” I said. “The whole point of this is…taking control of the narrative, right? We can write our own chapter.”
He stared at me.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Not the sharp, wolfish grin he wore in front of Cassian.
Something softer.
Filled with a wonder that made my chest ache.
“You’re terrifying,” he said.
“I’m adorable,” I corrected.
“Both,” he said.
He reached over.
Tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers brushed the edge of my scar.
Heat flared.
“Later,” he murmured.
“Later,” I echoed.
We had a season.
We had a bone tree.
We had wolves at the borders and humans at the doors and stories spinning out of our control.
We had a line we kept drawing in the snow and daring ourselves not to cross.
We had each other’s hands.
For now.
Sometimes, that had to be enough.
***