*Sage*
The morning after the storm, the world looked scrubbed clean and dangerous.
Snow glittered on every branch, the sky a hard, brittle blue. The air had that knife-edge clarity that made sound travel farther and thoughts feel too sharp.
I stood at the edge of the clearing with my notebook and tried to pretend I was just a scientist again.
“Post-blizzard behavior,” I murmured, pencil moving. “Pack activity resumes immediately after major weather event. Pups restless, adults restless-er.”
The pups were losing their minds in the snow—leaping into drifts, tunneling, popping up to ambush each other. They alternated between human and wolf shapes with an ease that made my brain ache. Little bodies winking in and out of fur like someone flipping a switch.
I tried to draw what that looked like under the skin.
My pencil scratched out crude stick figures with arrows.
Human → Wolf Wolf → Human
Then I added: *pain* under each arrow.
Mara had said it never stopped hurting.
I watched a little girl—Sara, I thought—shift mid-run, her giggles turning to a yip as fur rippled over her arms, her legs lengthening, her spine flexing. She tumbled, came up four-legged, shook herself, and barreled after her brother.
If it hurt, she hid it well.
“You’re frowning again,” Rafe said from behind me.
I jumped, nearly smacking him in the face with my notebook. “Jesus. Put a bell on.”
He smirked. “You’re in a village of predators, Doc. If you can’t hear us coming, we’re doing our jobs.”
“I thought your job was ‘pain-in-the-ass best friend,’” I said.
He put a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “See? You *do* listen.”
His gaze tracked past me to where Kieran stood near the longhouse, talking with Kellan. Both of them were in human form, both frowning at something on the ground—a set of tracks, I realized, etched into the fresh snow near the tree line.
Not wolf.
Too narrow.
“New visitors?” I asked.
“Old ones,” Rafe said. “Come on. You should see this.”
He led me across the clearing.
As we approached, Kieran straightened. His jaw was tight enough to crack teeth.
“What is it?” I asked, peering down.
Boot prints.
Big ones. Deep. Coming out of the forest. Crossing the edge of the clearing. Turning back.
Not too close to the dens, but close enough to see smoke. Hear voices.
Scent humanity.
“Not Kurt,” I said automatically. Different tread. Different boot brand.
“How can you tell?” Kellan rumbled.
“I pay attention,” I said. “Kurt wears those cheap feed-store specials with the block tread. These are Vibram. Better grip. More expensive.”
“Hunter?” Rafe guessed.
“Or ranger,” I said. “Or hiker with money.”
“Not a hiker,” Kieran said quietly.
“How do you know?” I asked.
He crouched, fingers hovering over one of the prints. “Depth,” he said. “Even through fresh powder, you can tell where they sank more. Where they…paused.”
I frowned. “They paused…there. There. There.” I followed the prints with my eyes. “Like…someone stopping. Listening.”
“Smelling,” Kieran said. “Watching.”
Ice slid down my spine.
“Did they see—” I glanced back at the clearing. At pups. At laundry on lines. At movement that, to an uninformed eye, would just look…odd. A big family compound off the grid.
“Not like this,” Kellan said. “We were in the longhouse. Pups in dens. Doors shut. Edda and Rafe on patrol.”
“We caught the trail late,” Rafe admitted. “Storm covered most of it. Whoever it was, they came in last night. While we were all listening to you lecture about apex predators.”
“Don’t blame this on my trophic cascade talk,” I muttered. “Did you pick up scent?”
Rafe made a face. “Human, snow, lots of…cheap body spray. Male. Young-ish.”
“Cheap body spray,” I repeated. “What is this, a frat party?”
“Smelled like it,” he said. “Cassian’s crew doesn’t wear that crap. They go natural. This was…different.”
“Could be a local kid,” I said. “Teenage boys bathe in Axe and poor decisions.”
Kieran’s expression didn’t ease. “Or it could be someone sent to check on you,” he said. “From Bozeman. From Kurt. From anyone who’s noticed your patterns got…” He glanced at me. “Strange.”
Guilt prickled under my jacket.
“Kim wouldn’t send a kid,” I said. “Her people are professionals. And if Kurt was suspicious enough to send someone, it’d be one of his own.”
“That doesn’t comfort me,” Rafe said.
“Whoever it was,” Kellan rumbled, “they got close enough to smell us. They’ll be back.”
“Unless we scare them off,” Edda said, appearing out of nowhere, cheeks pink from the cold. “Send a little…message.”
“What kind of message?” I asked warily.
She grinned, sharp. “The kind that makes them think twice about creeping around in the woods at night.”
“No,” Kieran said.
She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to suggest.”
“Nothing you suggest when you’re making that face turns out to be peaceful,” he said.
She kicked snow at his boot. “You’re no fun.”
He glanced back at the prints, then at me. “We tighten the perimeter,” he said. “Double patrols for a few days. Keep the pups inside at dusk. And you—” He fixed me with that amber stare. “You don’t leave the inner ring without at least two of us. Ever.”
I bristled. “You already grounded me, remember? I’m not sneaking off to the gas station for snacks.”
“This is different,” he said. “Random humans stumbling through the trees are…unpredictable. Panicked humans even more so. One scream, one gunshot, and we’re in the middle of a mess we can’t clean up.”
“He’s right,” Mara said, joining us, coat pulled tight around her. “The storm bought us time. It also covered a lot of tracks. Including theirs.”
“How long can we hide like this?” I blurted. “Doubling down. Circling the wagons. Hoping no one notices.”
They all looked at me.
“What’s the alternative?” Rafe asked. “Hang a sign at the freeway exit? ‘Welcome to Shifterville, population: bitey’?”
“No,” I said. “But…you can’t just react forever. You need…proactive strategies.”
“Such as?” Kellan said skeptically.
“Controlling the narrative,” I said. “If you can’t stop people from talking, steer what they say. Feed them something smaller to chew on.” I waved at the snow. “Footprints. Howls. Black wolves bigger than they should be. Give them legends. Folktales. Stories that feel…spooky but safe. The more people can explain you away as ‘local lore,’ the less they go looking for…truth.”
Edda lit up. “We start rumors about ourselves,” she said. “I like this game.”
“It’s not a game,” I said. “It’s…social engineering.”
“That sounds sexy,” Rafe said.
“It’s spreadsheet sexy,” I said. “My favorite kind.”
Kieran’s mouth twitched.
“You want us to…mythologize,” Mara said slowly.
“You already are myths,” I said. “Lean into it. Make it boring. Tourist-trappy. ‘Come to Montana, see Bigfoot.’ People will roll their eyes. Post blurry photos. Make merch. The more they turn you into a meme, the less they show up here with scalpels.”
Kellan looked horrified.
“You want us on…t-shirts?” he rumbled.
“Worst case, yes,” I said.
“This is some dystopian shit,” Rafe muttered.
“It’s also…clever,” Mara said. “If we can control the *tone* of the stories…”
“…we make ourselves less…threatening,” Edda finished. “More…fun.”
“Monsters that sell mugs don’t get exterminated,” I said.
Kieran was quiet.
His gaze had gone distant, like he was seeing not the snow, but something beyond it.
“You’d help us do this,” he said. Not a question.
“I’d help you survive,” I said. “If that means writing a ‘Haunted Trails of Gallatin County’ pamphlet, sure.”
Rafe chuckled. “I always wanted to be in a brochure.”
Kellan made a face like he’d just eaten something sour.
Mara’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll need names,” she said. “Legends. Old bones wrapped in new stories.”
“I can work with old bones,” I said. “It’s what I’m good at.”
Kieran’s gaze sharpened on me. “What do you need?”
“A printer,” I said. “Access to a library. Internet, ideally.”
“None of which we can give you,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “But Bozeman can.”
His jaw tightened. “You want to go back to town.”
“Briefly,” I said. “On my terms. With you.” I gestured toward the village. “The longer I stay *completely* off-grid, the more suspicious Kim gets. And if she gets too suspicious, she’ll send someone. Someone who won’t stop at the edge of the clearing.”
“Like your mystery Axe boy,” Rafe said.
“Exactly,” I said. “If I show my face in Bozeman, even for a day, I can…reset the clock. Give her a story she can live with. Get supplies. Plant seeds.”
“No,” Kellan said immediately. “Too dangerous.”
“She’s right,” I said. “It’s dangerous either way. Doing nothing is a risk. Doing something is a risk. At least this way, *we* choose the risk.”
“I could go,” Rafe offered. “Pretend to be your new intern. You teach me how to use…PowerPoint.”
I snorted. “You in an office? You’d last ten minutes before you chewed through a swivel chair.”
He grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”
“You can’t show up in my workplace and not raise eyebrows,” I said. “You’re…you.”
“And you,” Kellan rumbled. “You think walking into a human building with him sniffing at your heels won’t raise any?”
I looked at Kieran.
He held my gaze.
“If we do this,” he said slowly, “we do it *very* carefully.”
My heart jumped.
“So…we’re doing it?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “We plan first. Routes. Covers. Contingencies. We talk to Mara. To the council. We don’t just stroll into your concrete box because you miss fluorescent lighting.”
“I don’t miss fluorescent lighting,” I said. “I miss…options.”
His mouth softened, almost imperceptibly.
“We’ll give you some,” he said. “Ones that don’t get us all killed.”
***
Planning to leave the valley felt like plotting a jailbreak.
We gathered around the big table in the longhouse that night—Kieran at the head, Mara at his right, Rafe and Edda flanking the other side, Kellan looming like a skeptical tree at the far end.
I had my notebook, a pen that skipped in the cold, and a gut full of nerves.
“Bozeman is…one hundred twenty miles,” I said, sketching a crude map on the table. “Two hours by truck in good weather, three in this. The FWS office is central. My apartment’s on the south side. The university’s east.”
“You drove out with a government vehicle,” Kellan rumbled. “They’ll notice if you show up without it.”
“My truck is still at the trailhead,” I said. “You’ve been bringing my gear in, but the vehicle’s just…sitting there. Kim thinks I’m using it for short trips to town between field days. Me showing up in it won’t raise alarms. Me not showing up in it for *weeks* will.”
“Cameras?” Rafe asked. “On roads? In town?”
“Traffic cams on the highway,” I said. “Security cameras in buildings. Cell phones everywhere. Bozeman’s not L.A., but it’s not Mayberry either.”
“Translation,” Edda muttered. “We can’t shift.”
“Not there,” I said. “Not even a little.”
“Then we stay in skin,” Kieran said. “We’re not children. We can behave.”
“You’ll need clothes that don’t scream ‘lives in the woods and fights bears for fun,’” I said.
Rafe clutched his chest. “Are you insulting my flannel?”
“I’m saying Patagonia catalogs should not be your only reference,” I said. “I have…stuff at my place. You can borrow.”
The mental image of Kieran wearing my old college hoodie did weird things to my stomach.
“What’s your cover?” Mara asked. “You’re not due back yet, are you?”
“I can…accelerate my timeline,” I said. “Call Kim. Tell her the storm knocked out my equipment. That I need to come in, download what I have, regroup. No one questions a scientist crawling back to civilization after tech failure.”
“That gives you an excuse to show your face,” she mused. “But why bring him?”
I glanced at Kieran.
His face was unreadable.
“New assistant,” I said. “Seasonal tech. He can say he’s from out of state. Took a leave from…construction.” I waved a hand at his biceps. “No one will argue.”
“Name?” Edda asked, eyes gleaming. “Please let me pick.”
“No,” Kieran and I said together.
She pouted.
“Stick to something simple,” I said. “Logan. Nick. Ryan. Human names. Short. No weird vowel clusters.”
He frowned. “What’s wrong with vowel clusters?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Unless you introduce yourself as ‘Kieran Vasquez’ in a town where everyone knows there’s no Kieran Vasquez on the FWS payroll.”
Rafe snorted. “You really think they keep track of all the sexy field techs?”
“Yes,” I said. “In my office, they do. Especially if they walk in looking like…” I gestured vaguely at Kieran’s everything.
His brows rose.
“Like what,” he asked.
“Like someone who makes people drop their coffee,” I muttered.
He smirked, slow and dangerous.
Mara cleared her throat. “Stay on target,” she said.
“Right,” I said, cheeks hot. “So. You’re…Ryan. Last name—”
“Not important,” Kieran said.
“Humans like last names,” I said. “They get suspicious when you don’t have them. Pick one.”
He scowled. “Fine. Ryan…Stone.”
I stared.
Rafe burst out laughing. “Dude. That’s a porn name.”
“What’s porn,” Kellan asked.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Edda said.
Kieran frowned. “It’s a perfectly normal name.”
“Stone?” I said. “Really? Why not Steele while you’re at it?”
He glowered. “You said simple.”
“Okay, Mr. Simplicity, how about Ryan…Morales,” I said. “Common enough. No accidental innuendo.”
He considered. “Fine.”
“Good,” I said. “Ryan Morales. Seasonal tech. Likes fieldwork. Hates paperwork. Fits right in.”
“I do hate paperwork,” he muttered.
“See?” I said. “Method acting.”
Mara tapped the table. “Risks?”
“Cassian,” Kellan said immediately. “If he smells you leave, he’ll want to follow.”
“Then he’ll know where you sleep,” Edda said. “Where your den is. Your human den, I mean.”
I swallowed.
The thought of Cassian standing outside my apartment building—of his teeth on my world—made my skin crawl.
“We can mask our scent,” Mara said. “To a point. Snow helps. So does human stink.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Rafe and Edda will run interference,” Kieran said. “Keep Northridge occupied. Make it…expensive for them to leave their side of the ridge.”
“Start those ‘myth’ rumors early,” Edda said, eyes gleaming. “How do you feel about crop circles?”
“We don’t have corn,” Rafe said. “Try again.”
“We’ll need a time limit,” Mara said. “In and out. No lingering.”
“One day,” I said. “Maybe two, if we stretch it. Enough to hit the office, my apartment, the grocery store. I can’t ghost my life completely.”
“And at night?” Kellan asked. “You sleep…where?”
“My place,” I said. “It’s small, but the couch is comfortable. He—” I flicked a glance at Kieran. “He can pretend to be my visiting…cousin. Or friend. Or…”
“Boyfriend,” Rafe suggested, delighted.
“No,” Kieran and I said in unison.
Rafe pouted. “You two are no fun.”
“It’s not believable,” I said quickly. “No one in my office thinks I have a life.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched.
“Then we don’t lie bigger than we have to,” Mara said. “Keep it simple. Associate, coworker, nothing more.”
Rafe mouthed *for now* at me.
I pretended not to see.
“When?” Kieran asked.
A beat of silence.
“Soon,” I said. “Before Kurt sobers up enough to second-guess giving me that card. Before Axe Boy grows a spine. Before Kim’s patience runs out.”
Snow tapped softly against the windows.
The pack’s murmur hummed in the background.
This was insane.
This was necessary.
Kieran met my eyes.
“Then we go tomorrow,” he said.
My heart lurched. “That soon?”
“Every day we wait, the tracks get colder,” he said. “The stories get wilder. The risk gets…louder.”
He was right.
He was also about to walk into a world that could eat him in a different way.
I closed my notebook.
“Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
Rafe grinned. “Road trip.”
Edda whooped. “I call shotgun.”
“No,” Kieran said.
“This is gonna be *so* fun,” she muttered.
Mara just watched us, eyes ancient and sharp.
“Be careful,” she said. “All of you.”
No one had to say *If this goes wrong, everything changes.*
We all knew.
We scattered to our tasks.
Packing.
Planning.
Pretending this was just another field day.
That night, when I slid under the blankets beside Kieran, our bodies finding that new, dangerous, comfortable tangle, neither of us mentioned that tomorrow we’d be doing something neither of us had ever done:
Leave each other’s worlds.
And hope the other would follow back.
***