The morning was warm enough that the cabin windows were cracked open, letting in the soft hum of spring and the scent of thawed earth. Thane stood at the kitchen counter, looking at the square in the distance through the window as Mark scrolled through a notebook of inventory scribbles and Gabriel tuned a guitar string lazily just to hear something musical in the quiet.
“You’re thinking hard,” Gabriel said around a yawn.
Thane slid the pencil between his claws and tapped it once on the counter. “We need the next step.”
“Next step of what?” Mark asked.
“Normal,” Thane replied. “Real normal. Not just lights and water and working ovens. Something people can build a life around.”
Gabriel set the guitar down, curiosity flicking across his expression. “What do you have in mind?”
Thane turned to face them fully. “A bank.”
Mark blinked. “A… bank.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Like… money-money?”
Thane nodded. “We can’t rebuild everything on barter forever. It works in a pinch. But not long term. People need wages. Shops need a way to sell. People need savings. Structure. The next piece of civilization.”
Mark’s tail flicked, slow and thoughtful. “It makes sense. Money streamlines trade. And Glacier Bank used to keep an enormous stack of cash because of all the forest service and mill traffic. Pre-Fall notes would still be… well, they’re still money.”
Gabriel grinned. “We’re rebooting capitalism, baby!”
Thane flicked his ear in warning. “Gently.”
“Oh, sure,” Gabriel said. “Soft capitalism. Capitalism with hugs.”
Mark rubbed his face. “Let’s just call it commerce.”
Thane grabbed the Humvee keys. “Come on. We’re pitching it to Marta.”
The drive was short and peaceful — maintained roads now, clean shoulders, fresh paint on curb poles. The world looked startlingly functional. Like it remembered how to breathe.
They walked into City Hall to find Marta elbow-deep in paperwork, a pencil clamped between her teeth. She looked up.
“Oh hello,” she said, removing the pencil before she accidentally swallowed it. “You’re here. What’s on fire?”
“Nothing,” Thane said. “In fact… I want to talk about building something.”
Marta’s eyebrows rose. “That’s new.”
Thane stepped closer. “We need a currency again. Something stable. Trade works in the short term, but it’s starting to hold people back. They want to open businesses. Hire help. Sell goods. Function like towns again.”
Marta leaned back in her chair, expression shifting from curiosity to genuine interest. “You’re serious.”
“Completely,” Thane said. “And Glacier Bank still stands. They kept large cash reserves. We can clean it up, secure it, and designate it as the regional bank. Issue pre-Fall currency for now. People can earn wages, buy goods, save money. It gives freedom. Structure. Stability.”
Gabriel added, “And it means fewer people haggling over chickens in the street.”
Mark nodded. “There’s also accountability. If people get paid, you can track labor. Compensation. Projects. Maintenance cycles.”
Marta stared at them for a long moment, then stood. “I’m going to say something surprising.”
Gabriel whispered, “She’s pregnant.”
“Gabriel,” Thane warned.
Marta ignored him. “I agree,” she said. “A bank is exactly what we need. Commerce is the missing piece. The towns are ready for it.”
Gabriel pumped his fist. “We’re restarting society!”
Marta pointed at him. “No slogans yet.”
They spent the next hour drafting small “Cash Accepted Here” signs — simple white cardstock printed on the town hall office printer. Thane made a list of businesses and shop owners. Gabriel volunteered to call those connected to the phone network. Varro, stationed at the cabin that morning, was sent a runner to deliver a stack of signs to distribute.
By midday, every store in Libby had a sign taped to the window. Some held them with pride. Some stared at them like the past had risen from the grave.
A regional meeting was announced for the next morning — leaders and representatives from Libby, Eureka, Kalispell, Whitefish, Thompson Falls, and the surrounding towns, farms and camps.
When the crowd gathered, the room felt full of something rare: hope with structure. Dozens of voices mingled. People held paper signs. Kids chased each other between chairs. The hum of community felt electric.
Marta stood at the front, Thane to her right, Tom Anderson to her left. Nora from Thompson Falls leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, grin bright. Tarrik stood behind Tom, calm and confident, looking like a wolf who finally knew where he belonged. Seth stood near him, posture stiff, clearly unsure of sharing space with the former Iron Ridge Alpha.
Marta lifted her voice. “We’re here today to talk about the next phase of rebuilding. We have power. We have water. We have communication. And thanks to Thane and his pack, we have safety and cooperation. Today, we’re talking about commerce. Money. A system to support labor, trade, and progress.”
No one booed. No one grumbled. The room leaned forward.
Thane stepped forward. “We’re proposing reopening Glacier Bank as the central bank for the valley. They kept a large cash reserve. Pre-Fall currency is still valid. We’ll use it. Workers can be paid. Shops can sell goods. People can save again. We’ll create a structure — not a temporary barter economy.”
Tom chimed in, “Eureka’s ready. We’ve got businesses reopening already. With real currency, it’ll be smoother than ever.”
Nora added, “And Thompson Falls needs this. Our reconstruction teams have been doing everything on the honor system. I’m not saying it doesn’t work — it just doesn’t scale.”
An older man from the back spoke up. “Money means I can actually hire hands for the sawmill again!”
A woman near the front said, “If we can pay teachers, we can get the school fully open.”
A farmer lifted a hand. “It’ll help with supply trades. Right now, it’s a nightmare figuring out how many eggs equals a chain saw.”
Someone else snorted. “Depends on the saw.”
Laughter rolled through the crowd, warm and easy.
Marta looked at Thane. “You started this. Finish it.”
Thane stepped forward again. “This is the moment we shift from survival to living. From getting by… to growing. Currency gives people choice again. Autonomy. And it ties our communities together through trust.”
A ripple of approving murmurs passed through the crowd.
Mark leaned in and whispered, “You’re good at speeches.”
Thane murmured back, “I’m making it up as I go.”
The room relaxed as questions were answered. Plans formed. Timelines drafted. Signage prepared. A structure snapped into place with an almost audible click: wages, savings, community funds, shared banking security, regional input.
At one point, Gabriel leaned over to Mark and whispered, “This is like watching SimCity but with actual laws of physics.”
Mark shrugged. “Better graphics, though.”
Eventually, people took a break to mingle. Shop owners approached Thane to thank him. Young adults expressed excitement about “real jobs.” A handful of older folks sat together reminiscing about bank lines and balancing checkbooks.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the room, Seth slowly approached Tarrik.
“You look different,” Seth said, eyes narrowed, but not hostile.
Tarrik straightened, ears tilting. “I try different.”
Seth looked him up and down like someone trying to reconcile a ghost with a living person. “Didn’t think I’d see you… like this.”
“Me neither,” Tarrik admitted. “Tom helps. Town helps.” He paused, then met Seth’s gaze directly. “I want say sorry. For before. For how I was. Was bad Alpha. Hurt many.” He swallowed hard. “I want forgiveness.”
Seth froze for a heartbeat—then smiled softly. “You have it. All of it.”
Tarrik blinked rapidly, eyes wet. “Thank you.”
Seth clapped his shoulder. “You’re… good, now. That’s enough.”
Across the room, Gabriel whispered to Thane, “Aw. Look at him. Proud moment.”
Thane smirked. “He’s earning every step.”
The meeting went on for nearly two hours, but not one person complained. When everything was decided — bank reopening schedule, security rotations, signage rollout, currency validation — Marta closed with a simple line:
“Today, we stopped maintaining survival… and started rebuilding life.”
Applause echoed through the hall. Thane felt something warm settle inside his chest, old and new at the same time.
Outside, the sun was warm. Kids laughed. Engines hummed. Someone had set up a lemonade stand — actual lemonade, not a desperate trade for clean water. Spring had found them again.
Gabriel stretched his arms. “Whew. That was big.”
Mark nodded. “Important.”
Thane looked out over the square, watching the people he had nearly died to protect step into a new kind of future.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It was.”